


Blue Eyes and Possession

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Confident!Daryl, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampire!Rick, Versatile!Rickyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl gets locked in jail as an accomplice to Merle’s dumbass crime and there he meets an interesting officer, the kind of predator that Daryl is drawn to. But soon, Daryl finds that Rick is more than the wild spirit he seems as first. He has a depth to him that Daryl is just starting to uncover and, if Daryl is real with himself, starting to fall in love with. Vampire!Rick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Eyes and Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the awesome skarlatha for betaing and see the awesome cover she made [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3365279)!

 

 

The cell door slams shut with a metal clang and the officer on duty, Walsh according to the name printed on his uniform, glowers at Merle and Daryl. “You should hide your stash better next time,” he tells them before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway and outside into the front of the precinct.

Daryl agrees. Merle  _should_  hide his stash better. In fact, Merle should have hid it in the  _first_  place and not left it sitting in the truck cup holder, out in full view of anyone walking by. And, if Merle was not so inclined to at least stuff it in the glovebox, he should have had the sense to not be going ninety in a sixty. That would have helped. Daryl sighs heavily and for the umpteen billionth time in the last hour repeats to himself  _you should never fall asleep when Merle is driving. Ever. You know this._

Beside him, Merle grunts. “Not too friendly of a piggy, is he?”

Daryl set his jaw. “Merle,” he starts, but then stops himself. There are no words. So instead he sits down on the thin metal bench in the cell and props his elbows up on his knees, letting his head hang down.

Merle sits next to him and stretches his feet out. “Hate these tiny little stations,” he says. “Prison’s at least  _comfortable._ ”

“Well,” Daryl says, “that’s where you’re going. You’re on  _probation,_  Merle.”

Merle grunts again. “Boy, I  _know_ ,” he says. He frowns. “Ms. Charlotte won’t let me forget it, either, that skank. But at least I don't have to stare at her dumbass face anymore, with her snide little tits and her piss-yellow hair and her  _disappointment._ ”

Daryl sits back, thumping his head on the wall. “God _damn_ you, Merle.” He shakes his head. Why does he always get caught up in all of this? He’s been asking himself that question for years. Daryl has a squeaky clean track record--no charges, no court dates, no jail time. But for someone who always walks on the right side of the law, he’s got a  _shit freaking ton_ of arrests--attempted battery (he had been standing to the side while Merle punched a dude who just happened to be wearing a tan cop’s uniform), accessory to burglary (Merle had hopped in his truck, threw a bag of china in his lap and said  _drive_ ), hiding a felon (Merle was in the guestroom closet, how was he supposed to know?) and this was not his first arrest for possession. Merle was the definition of a bad influence.

But every time they hauled Daryl in with Merle and accused him of the same crime, they quickly realized that no, Daryl wasn’t like his brother. He wasn’t dumb enough to steal from the mayor or to start fights with officials. He was just the little brother caught up in his big brother’s fuckery and every time they let him go.

And usually, Merle got off light. Because Merle had a damn  _mouth_ and even though he used it poorly 90% of the time, he could sweet talk like you’d never  _seen_  when he wanted out of something. So more times than not, he ended up with fines, plea bargains, little stints of jail time. Usually, though, he wasn’t on probation when he got turned in. Merle was at least smart enough to space out his arrests with just enough timing to put on the big lip and the begging eyes and go “old Merle’s just been kicked by society” and some dumb cop or lawyer would buy it hook, line, and sinker and then there you go. See you in two months, baby brother.

But this was different. And Daryl knew it was. If Merle was the one busted for this, he’d go away for years this time. So Daryl sighed heavily into the cellblock and muttered, “I’ll take the fall.” He figured he could give his own big eyes and get away with a fine, given his upstanding citizenship.

“I ain’t letting you do that,” Merle said, but Daryl shrugged.

“Too bad,” he said, “doing it anyway.  But next time, listen to what that officer said, and  _hide your stash, Merle_.”

One of the guys in the next cell perked up when Daryl said “stash” and Daryl glared at him, trying to show that he was absolutely not in the mood for any damn talking tonight. But the guy stood up and walked closer to where only bars separated them. “You said stash?” the guy said.

Merle frowned. “Not sharing,” he said and Daryl rolled his eyes.

“No, no, no,” the guy said and kneeled down. “ _Psst._  Come here. I have to tell you something.”

“No,” Daryl said to the guy because, um, no. He was not going to lean into crazy-eyes.

“No, no, no,” Crazy Eyes said again. “You have to know about  _him._ ”

Merle frowned. “You talkin’ to me about Jesus?”

Crazy Eyes bared his teeth. “No. HIM. Him. The two a.m. psycho. People in here call him  _Officer Friendly_ ,” he bites out with heavy sarcasm. “He’s this cop, see. He comes in here every night,  _exactly_ two a.m. and he takes someone who got charged for possession--always one of the possession people or if not one of them, then one of the drunks--and he takes them back to the  _room._  Interrogation Room #3.” He presses his face to the bars. “Sometimes they  _scream._  And then they come back, not a mark on them and they don’t remember anything.  _Nothing._  Like not a thing just happened to them.”

Merle looks over at Daryl and grunts. “Guess I’m not the only one on crack,” he says and Daryl rolls his eyes to the white police station ceiling. Between Merle and Crazy Eyes, he’s not sure how long he can last before begging the cops to just nightstick him.

***

Night rolls around and, true to form, the cells are both quieter and not quiet at all. Those arrested in the day are trying to sleep curled up in corners or taking charge of the benches. But there are new, loud drunks pouring in that wake everyone up and there is the inevitable scuffle that breaks out or the boys on the right side of the hallway catcalling to the girls in the cells on the left side.

Daryl notices, though, that at one thirty in the morning everyone starts to get hyper  _concerned._  And then he hears the same story that Crazy Eyes told him, only this time it’s from Curly, Larry, and Moe...and also from Roger Hendrickson who tries to shake everyone’s hand with a hardy “Hey, there, Roger Hendrickson.”

And then Daryl himself starts to get slightly concerned. Because one insane guy is dismissible, but the whole lot of them with all the same details is downright creepy and  _surely_ there’s not a two a.m. insane cop who takes people’s memories.

At 1:50, Merle tugs on his sleeve. “Ain’t real,” he says and then sniffs, looking everywhere but at Daryl. “If it is real, though, follow my lead.”

Daryl nods slightly and then he waits as the minutes tick by. At 1:58 the lights go dim. The prisoners start to pace and panic. All eyes are on the door leading back into the precinct. At 1:59, Merle grabs Daryl’s shoulder and fists his hand in Daryl’s shirt. Daryl might be the only calm one, and the only sane one, left in the whole bunch--robbers and assaulters and drunks who are all biting their nails and wailing. And then it’s two a.m. exactly and the door opens.

A cop walks through and Daryl blinks.  _This_ is the guy we’re afraid of? he thinks. He’s about Daryl’s height and he can’t weigh more than Daryl does--probably a little less, in fact, when you take away the baggy cop’s uniform. He has shortish brown hair that gets kind of curly at the back and he’s got just the barest hint of stubble. He looks incredibly nonthreatening.

But then he moves. His body slips through the air like liquid and he holds up a hand to let it run across the cell bars. His eyes are narrowed and intense and his steps are feather light, muscles as coiled as a cobra. Daryl is used to dividing the world out into easy equations--hit or miss, fight or flight, hunter or prey. He can categorize most of the world easily, putting them in nice little boxes of  _follower,_   _herd,_   _victim._  And then there are others like his dad and Merle, who are still prey, still deer and not wolves, but like to try and hide it--bucks with their antlers up, crashing into the world and skewering people because they feel cornered. It’s rare, so very rare, for Daryl to see an actual wolf.

But this guy is a wolf. Or some kind of predator, Daryl thinks, because wolf isn’t quite right for him. He walks down the hallway, moving toward the end where Merle and Daryl are, his feet paced out and silent, his eyes open and determined, his shoulder blades tense but moving like melted iron. A mountain lion, Daryl thinks. A tiger in the grass. Daryl narrows his eyes because he’s not used to this, coming up against a man that might just be his equal. But Daryl’s never been one to back down. Because he’s not prey, a damn deer waiting to be taken down. So he steps up right next to the cell door and hopes the guy can see the smoothness in his movements, the barely repressed crackle of  _danger._

The cop’s hand slips on one of the bars, his finger missing a beat just slightly. No one else notices, but Daryl tilts his chin up in defiance because he did. And then the man is right there outside of Daryl’s cell door and Daryl’s heart is pounding fast but his breaths are even, as polished as glass. The man reaches forward, curls a hand around the bars and Daryl notices that his nails are longer than they should be, sharper, and the irises of his eyes are the color of blood.

“In for possession, huh?” the man says and Daryl doesn’t break eye contact.

Merle rushes forward and tries to put himself between Daryl and the cop, but Daryl can still see his eyes over Merle’s shoulder. Neither of them blink. “Yeah,” Merle says. “Mmm, crack.”

Daryl’s too busy holding the cop’s stare measure for measure to roll his eyes at his brother, but he hears Merle spouting out things like  _take him instead_ and  _do what you're going to do_  and  _police brutality_. But Daryl knows it’s all incredibly futile. Because that cop has been sizing him up ever since he opened the door and he’s top cat and top cats don’t take shit from other cats who just walked up into their territory.

The cop opens the door and reaches past Merle, grabs Daryl and spins him out of the cell, locking the door back again with Merle still in it. Merle starts yelling at him, trying to bait him, but you don’t bait a tiger. They don’t go for that kind of shit.

Daryl stands there, glaring in front of himself at the long concrete hallway and the bars full of their prison audience. His body remains tense and he opens his hearing and the little nodes of touch sensory on his back to tell him just what the cop is doing behind him. He feels his presence like a force field--his personal bubble shoved up right next to Daryl’s and Daryl waits for  _touch._  He hears a slight jingle of metal, one that has to be deliberate because he’s pretty sure this guy could run across a piano and still be silent. And then the cop grabs his wrist and the touch is hard and crushing, his skin slightly chilled and  _strong._  He handcuffs Daryl and Daryl doesn’t make one move.

And then the cop puts his hand on the small of Daryl’s back, his nails digging in just slightly and he’s pushing Daryl down the hallway. Daryl walks and tunes Merle’s voice out and the voice of several other prisoners, calling to Officer Friendly.

The cop pushes him down the hall and as one prisoner gets a little rowdy and reaches through the bars, he turns lightning quick and rushes at her, slamming his hand and his lower arm into the bar. He hisses at the girl to calm down, his voice all low and raspy. The other prisoners flinch back, but Daryl doesn’t twitch, not once. Because sudden movements have never fazed him.

The officer turns back to him and Daryl tilts his head just enough so that he can see his expression out of his peripheral vision--a little surprised and appreciative. Daryl wonders when the last time the cop saw another wolf was and then he is being pushed down the hall and into Interrogation Room #3, which is just as bland as every interrogation room one would imagine, barren except for two chairs on either side of a table. The cop pushes him down into one and sits in the other.

“Possession,” he says and Daryl nods.

“Mine,” he says. “Not my brother’s, so you can let him go.”

“Hmm,” the cop says, “not too keen on talking about that right now, but I’ll make a note of it in your file.” He flashes brilliant white teeth, long and unnerving. There’s better light in the room than there was in the hall and so Daryl can really look at his eyes now. He holds them the same as he held them before, unwavering. But underneath his skin, the red of the officer’s irises causes his nerves to crawl.

“What’s your name?” Daryl asks, set on  _power,_  “You know, so I can tell the other officers I talked to you.”

The cop laughs. “Richard Grimes,” he says.

Daryl lets the corners of his mouth curve up and he sets his chin just a tiny bit higher. “So, can I call you Dick, then?”

The cop chuckles again and then stands. “It’s  _Rick,_  if you’re so inclined,” he says and then walks behind Daryl. Daryl tunes out his eyesight again and gives everything to his ears and his skin. He can’t hear the panther behind him and he bites down his nerves because he’s always able to hear others. He’s never met someone so silent and smooth.

But nothing will scare him. So when Rick rushes forward and grabs the back of his neck, slamming his head down into the table, he doesn’t even  _flinch._ He manages to tilt his head when Rick pushes him forward, so he can see him with just his left eye. Rick’s mouth is open and his teeth are long indeed. “God, you’re a  _hard_ little son of a bitch, aren’t you?” he tells Daryl.

“Ain’t scared of nothing,” Daryl says. “Least of all you.”

Rick chuckles and then he leans down and puts his nose in Daryl’s hair. He takes in a deep breath and Daryl wonders who is this guy that is freaking  _sniffing_ him? “You smell like possession,” Rick says and Daryl shrugs, despite the awkward angle.

“What do you want, Dick?” Daryl asks him and then Rick springs like Daryl has been waiting for him to. He grabs Daryl and hauls him up, kicking the chair off to the side and then spinning him around so that Daryl’s back hits the cold hard wall. Daryl braces himself for the punch that about to happen or the kick, but he doesn’t get either of those. Instead, Rick molds himself to Daryl’s body like a snake wrapping around a mouse and he digs those sharp nails into Daryl’s hair, yanking his head to the side and he  _bites_ him.

Daryl lets go of one small breath and that’s all the reaction that he outwardly gives Rick. Inwardly, though, he jerks back in surprise. The man’s teeth are sharp and slicing and they’ve broken through the skin on Daryl’s neck and Daryl feels him  _sucking_ at it and what the hell is this? he asks himself. But Daryl can’t really move to shove him away on account of the fact that he’s handcuffed, and even in the best of circumstances, he’s pretty sure that they would be on equal ground, which would mean a long and hard fight and he’s not sure that assault of an officer is going to help either his or Merle’s case.

So he stays on the wall, his body tense and not welcoming, but still. Rick presses himself up against Daryl and his mouth continues to work at Daryl's neck and Daryl is just about to get worried about blood loss when Rick breaks away and takes two unsure steps back, looking at Daryl’s neck like it’s personally offended him. He hits the table and then he reaches out to steady himself on it. “You…” Rick starts, but stops himself. He shakes his head and the movement ripples down to his whole body, cascading shivers. He opens his mouth and gasps. And then he looks up at Daryl, his eyes a little less bright red. He licks his lips and then he straightens himself up and takes a step toward Daryl.

Daryl presses his back against the wall, wanting as much distance from Rick as possible. Rick sees it and he walks forward, puts his hand on Daryl’s neck, the opposite side from where he had bitten. He whispers, “Sssssshhh, it’s okay. It’s going away now. I’m not going to hurt you anymore.” He leans forward and Daryl can’t help one shiver of a flinch as Rick’s tongue touches his neck, freaking  _licking_ at the spot where he was just biting.

Daryl is a strong man and he’s good at resisting temptation. But he can’t help but pop a little bit of one as Rick’s tongue moves over that spot slowly and surely. And then Rick melts to him, his body fitting the right curves of Daryl’s and Daryl feels the cop against his thigh, heavy and hot, and he thinks if Rick tries anything, he  _will_ fight that. But he doesn’t. He pulls away and he blinks at Daryl, but his eyes aren’t red anymore. They’re  _violet_  and Daryl is kind of fascinated by that.

“Taking you back now,” Rick says and looks at Daryl’s neck. He licks his lips. “No,” he says to himself and swallows. “ _Taking you back now_.” And then he’s pushing Daryl out the door and shoving him down the hall, only it’s not like last time, touches like he couldn’t help but have contact with him. Now it’s like Daryl’s body burns his skin and he wants to get him away as quickly as possible. And then he’s uncuffing Daryl and throwing Daryl back into the cell, spinning away and walking down the hallway. He slams the door shut and the lights go back on.

Merle asks him what happened. He says he doesn’t remember because how can he explain that? But he touches his neck. Only there’s not blood there, not even a wound. The noise of the cells surround him and the prisoners go back to squabbling and Merle goes back to looking sullen about his probation and it’s almost,  _almost,_  like it never happened.

***

When daylight hits, Daryl finally drifts off to sleep on the metal bench and manages to keep his eyes shut for a good six hours. He’s slept in worse conditions and while it’s not comfortable and he definitely wishes for his bed back, he can actually get a little shut eye.

He wakes up in the afternoon to Merle’s bitching about how the girls in the cells across from them aren’t even cute. Shortly after, the cops question them about their charges. Daryl keeps to his story, swearing up and down that it was his stash and Merle grumbles along, but lets him take the fall. They say they’ll have to hold both of them for one more day, but by tomorrow morning, decisions will be made.

Which means that Daryl has to sit in the jail cell all day and just  _think_ about last night. He doesn’t say the “v” word to himself, because vampires don’t exist. But Rick Grimes fits the bill. Daryl thinks about his red eyes, his predatory behavior. The fact that he only comes out at night. But then, he thinks, there are things about the cop that don’t sync up--like how his skin wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t ice cold and dead like it should be, either. And how Daryl doesn’t feel like he’s turning into a vampire and he didn’t even faint at the blood loss, despite the fact that he could feel Rick taking a lot.

But Rick totally bit him and sucked his blood. And that is the very definition of the “v” word. Daryl gets a little paranoid and wonders if that means he’ll turn into one and it just hasn’t hit him yet, so he examines himself thoroughly and finds that he feels perfectly fine. He has plenty of energy, he’s rested, and the small slants of sunlight coming through the door at the back of the hallway don’t bother him. So he’s guessing not. And drinking blood sounds like it always has to him, metallic and unappetizing.

Daryl puts away worry for himself and instead thinks about the cop, all sleek and forceful. He closes his eyes and tunes out Merle complaining about how he’s going to get the shakes soon and instead focuses on the image burned in his mind of Rick walking down that hallway, his nails clicking on the metal bars as he walked, his feet as silent and still as a bobcat’s. Daryl pulls the sight of Rick’s eyes into his mind, burning red like poppies and iron oxide. And then his teeth, bleach white and long, the points like little knives in Daryl’s skin.

He thinks of violet, the way Rick licked his neck and then pulled away with something like humanity clouding the pretty dominance that lurked there. He thinks in that moment he watched the mountain lion retreating back into its cage, the tiger slipping into the grass, the leopard jumping into its tree. He wants to lure it back out, stand at that cave opening and call “here, kitty, kitty, come get me.”

Daryl snaps his eyes open and is so happy that Merle’s back is to him and he doesn’t see the utter and complete boner that Daryl just popped. Daryl crosses his legs and thinks about the national anthem, about multiplication tables, about Aunt Sally that one day he accidentally walked into the bathroom and her fifty year old tits were just a’hanging there in the wind and Daryl doesn't like girls on the best of days, but  _fuck,_  she hadn’t aged well.

He goes back down from attention far before Merle ever turns around, but now he has something else to think about. Because it’s been three years--Daryl groans to himself-- _three years_ since he’s got any. Not that all the boys haven’t been hanging around his heels like lost little puppies and he could have easily taken his pick back to his house. But Daryl isn’t a casual kind of guy and no one has struck his fancy in a long time. He wants someone who can hold him equal for equal, who wins over him sometimes and who loses to him sometimes, too. And he’s tired of all the deer he hangs around, their easy backdowns when he pushes just that little bit. Jeff was the last guy that was anything like the predator that Daryl needed, but he was too much. He wasn’t able to let Daryl win. He just wanted to  _dominate_ and Daryl doesn’t want that. At least not all the time.

But this guy. _This guy_ . Why can’t Daryl get him out of his head? He wants to throw him down and fuck him. He wants to  _be_ thrown down and fucked. And last night, Daryl had felt his cock pressed up against him, his body molded to Daryl so thoroughly, and it had been kind of hot to have his neck taken like that. Kind of arousing and  _that_ was strange, but Daryl doesn’t want to process what blood and neck kinks he’s developing, so he pushes that down and instead goes back to focusing on Rick. Officer Grimes. Officer Richard Grimes. And his beautiful,  _beautiful_ catlike elegance.

***

One thirty rolls around and Daryl is on his feet, pacing before the cell door. He waits for the lights to dim, for the door to open, for the pretty panther to come back out to play. Merle is up, too, and telling Daryl to sit back down, because he isn’t going to let that fucker take him  _twice._  Daryl shrugs at Merle, says that he can handle it.

And then, in the cell over, Crazy-Eyes turns to them and shakes his head. “Don’t have to worry, any,” he says. “He only takes them once.”

Daryl stops and turns to him. “What do you mean?”

Crazy-Eyes shrugs. “Officer Friendly. He never takes the same guy twice. You don’t have to worry.” Daryl frowns.  _Hard._

The lights dim early, at 1:45, and everyone is up and freaking out. Daryl watches the worry in all of their eyes and listens to the whispers of  _this never happens._  But then he hears the door start to open and he snaps his eyes up to see the same figure as last time standing in the doorway, looking subtle and non-threatening. And then, same as before, he moves and Daryl is reminded of things like stripes and spots and the coolness of forest shade.

Daryl steps up to the door and puts his hand next to the bars. He narrows his eyes and tries to pour out sex like so many of the boys say he can. But Rick refuses to look him in the eye. Instead he scans over the other criminals in the cells, deciding who to pick. Daryl watches, frustrated, but he refuses to make noise, refuses to bow down and call out  _Officer Grimes, how about me?_  Instead, he watches Rick scan over the other prisoners quickly and Daryl can tell that Rick knows exactly what he knows--that no one else in here is interesting, not on the level of power that they’re playing. Daryl lets his eyes bore into Rick’s body, seeping into his skin from yards away and willing Rick to feel their presence white hot on his skin. It works, because Daryl watches as he twitches, the small almost imperceptible movements of a man distracted.

Daryl lets his eyes wander this time, like he didn’t last night. He looks at Rick’s shoulders, at his ass, at his biceps. And then he looks at more subtle things that he didn’t pay attention to last night--like the fact that Rick is wearing a wedding ring and that just sets Daryl’s teeth to grating.

Rick stops two cells down from Daryl and Merle and he takes out a girl brought in during the day for selling pot. He cuffs her and starts walking her back down toward the room and Daryl sets his jaw. But then Rick slows down to a crawl and then to a stop, pausing halfway there. He turns back ever so slowly, looking over his shoulder. He makes eye contact with Daryl and Daryl can see his eyes wide and open in the low light. Rick licks his lips quickly. Daryl curves the corners of his mouth up and he knows he’s being a  _bitch,_  but he holds Rick’s gaze and then he tilts his head, exposing his neck to the light and Rick blinks.

_Here, kitty, kitty_ , Daryl thinks and Rick throws the girl back into the cell so fast, she must have whiplash. He stalks down the hallway, his steps loud and hard this time and Daryl thinks of cheetahs rushing across the ground, tigers leaping forward after they’ve been spotted. He wonders if he’s made the right move and then Rick is yanking his cell door open, grabbing him by the throat and tearing him out of the confined space and into the hallway. Merle starts jabbering, but neither Rick or Daryl are interested. Instead, Rick pushes Daryl forward and says “You know the room.” Daryl blinks, but starts walking, his hands hanging by his sides loosely, uncuffed.

Rick follows right behind him and when Daryl goes into the room, Rick shuts the door behind them with a slam and Merle’s baits and insults are drowned out. Daryl turns to him slowly and meets his eyes easily, categorizes the difference in red from last night to this night--tonight more maroon instead of cardinal. “You going to fight me?” Rick hisses out and Daryl shakes his head slowly, just once. Rick nods and then he’s grabbing Daryl’s arms, digging those long nails in, and pushing Daryl back into the wall. Rick strikes like a rattlesnake, curling his body up against Daryl’s again and putting his teeth right there on the left side of his neck. But he doesn’t bite down. Instead he just sits there and Daryl curves his neck, pushing his skin up into Rick’s mouth. Rick moans hard, but then he’s shoving away and pacing. “No,” he says. “No, I can’t. I’m taking you back.”

“Why?” Daryl asks.

“Because,” Rick says and looks at him. Daryl watches his irises as they get redder and redder. “You taste so  _fucking_ good.” And then he’s pressing up against Daryl again, licking a long stripe up his neck. “Oh, I can’t,” he hisses. “I can’t. What if I hurt you?” But he bites down just slightly and Daryl feels the puncture, the red line of blood seeping down his neck. Rick licks it, following it down to the collar of his shirt.

“That why you don’t take them twice?” Daryl asks and Rick moans at the vibrations of his neck as he talks.

“No,” he says. “Only take the fucked up ones. The druggies. You’re clean as a whistle, you fucking  _prick._ ” He bites down on Daryl’s neck fully, digging his teeth in and pulling Daryl’s neck forward as he presses Daryl’s body back into the wall. Daryl puts his hands on Rick’s hips lightly and focuses on his breathing, on the way Rick’s cock is heavy against his own groin.

Daryl grunts. “You gonna fuck me, too?” he asks. Rick pulls back, his eyes wide and the color of roses, his lips stained with Daryl.

“Yeah,” he hisses and then he throws Daryl off to the side, onto the interrogation room table and Daryl grunts as his stomach hits the cold metal and Rick rips at his pants. Rick gets them down around Daryl’s ankles and then he slides one hand up under Daryl’s shirt, scraping his nails across his back. Daryl moans and then Rick is digging something out of his pocket and handing it to Daryl. Daryl takes the bottle of lube and grunts. He starts preparing himself as Rick opens his own pants.

Daryl barely has any time to get himself ready before Rick is pulling his hand away and crushing his wrist to the table, muttering “Enough, can’t wait.” He presses into him hard. Daryl lets a sharp breath go because it isn’t _painful,_  but damn the man gave him no time and it fucking stings. But it’s the good kind of hurt, Daryl thinks as Rick leans over the his body, the nails of the hand that’s not crushing his wrist digging up his back, scraping it like he’s following the contours of a fucking river.

Rick presses into him fully and puts his mouth next to Daryl’s ear. He chuckles and then his tongue is licking Daryl’s ear and Daryl tilts his body toward Rick, lifting his ass and his neck at the same time and Rick moans a breathy little moan and then he’s biting Daryl, his teeth sinking in hard and his cock thrusting forward so roughly into Daryl that Daryl’s bangs forward on the interrogation table. He grunts and sets his teeth. “Harder,” he growls out and Rick obliges, holding his hips in place and pummeling him with his dick, putting so much pressure down on Daryl’s neck it’s almost strangling him. Daryl gasps out, his breath uneven and caught as it struggles to escape Rick’s teeth.

Rick shoves forward into him again, going from almost out to fully sheathed in Daryl and Daryl scrapes his nails down the interrogation table, the sick metallic sound grating. He watches in fascination as a trail of blood escapes Rick’s mouth and drips out onto the table. He leans up on his elbows so that he can brace himself, but Rick slams him back down, holding him in place with his cock and his hands and his fucking mouth sucking at Daryl. Daryl moans loudly into the room and spreads his legs further apart for Rick, who takes the opportunity and starts slamming in hard and rough and Daryl will be bruised after all of this, but he fucking _likes it._

He opens his mouth and chokes at the pressure on his neck, but he manages to grate out “touch...me…” Rick pulls back off of his neck and Daryl gasps out a breath, soaking it into his lungs and pulling it in.

“That what you want, huh?” Rick fucking purrs into his ear. “Me to touch you? You fucking  _bitch._ ”

Daryl looks over his shoulder and he dips his eyes down in brief submission before he opens them again, meeting Rick inch for inch. “Show me how you treat your bitches,” Daryl says, his voice rough from the lack of air, “and I might show you later how I treat mine.”

Rick’s eyes go wide and blown, the irises so red they shine and then he goddamn whimpers and covers Daryl again, his mouth back to closing Daryl’s neck, his cock back to claiming Daryl, and his hand slipping from Daryl’s hips to his groin and then he’s touching Daryl, stroking him with his right hand and scraping his nails ever so freaking lightly against Daryl’s balls and Daryl gasps out what air he has left and pushes his whole body up into Rick’s, going on his elbows again, thinking  _slam me down, baby. Slam me down._ And then Rick does, throws Daryl down so hard the table  _shakes_  with it, bangs against the floor and then Daryl is coming all over it.

Rick grabs him, pulls him back and Daryl follows him and then they are on the floor, Daryl on his knees and Rick behind him, fucking him with everything he’s got and groaning out against his neck. Daryl watches as the blood spills when Rick gasps and then Rick is grabbing both of his hands, pulling them against Daryl’s back and holding them in a parody of cuffs and he uses that to keep Daryl’s body in place as he thrusts. Daryl focuses on his muscles, accepting Rick when he’s coming in, squeezing against him to create pressure when he’s going out. He rocks with Rick, arching up into him and if Daryl could get up again this soon, he would, with the thought of Rick _coming_ in him and then he  _is_ and Daryl moans loudly into the interrogation room, letting Rick ride him out and thinking about what the fuck he’s gotten himself into, this guy on him, in him, giving him the best sex he’s  _ever_  had.

And then it’s over. Rick stays in him a beat longer, licking at his neck where he bit him. Daryl says his name, once, and then Rick freezes. He releases Daryl just like that, a bear trap snapping. He lets go of Daryl’s hands and his neck and he flings himself off of Daryl like a bullet from a gun. Daryl turns around slowly and he sees Rick sitting with his back against one of the table legs, breathing hard, his eyes coming down from the red to a maroon, to a steady violet.

Daryl grunts and falls over on his side. “The fuck are you?” he asks Rick and Rick looks at him, his eyes wide and almost,  _almost_ human again.

“I...I don’t know,” Rick says and the honesty of it is cutting. “I’ll…” Rick clears his throat and he’s silent for a minute, the quietness of his thoughts bouncing off the hard walls like little pellets. Finally, he speaks.

“Get your clothes on. I’ll take you to the staff bathroom, let you clean up before I take you back. And…” He stands. “And tomorrow, I’m going to file a report. A confession, on your behalf. That you were talking the fall for your brother because you’re as clean as a newborn baby. And you’re going to go home and he’s going to stay here, but honestly I don’t know if he’s going to get anything more than a couple of weeks in county.”

Daryl stares at him for a moment, but Rick refuses to look at him. “And you’re going to keep on keepin’ on, huh?” he says to Rick. “Taking druggies and biting the fuck out of them because you got a wife at home that doesn’t let you crawl up on her like you just did to me.”

Rick snaps his gaze to him, all violet and unreadable. Daryl wonders what color his eyes really are and then the thought passes as Rick stands up and fixes his clothing, snaps to Daryl to do the same. Rick does what he says he’s going to, lets Daryl clean up and then takes him back to his cell.

Right before he opens the door to the back of the station, Daryl asks, “Why don’t the others remember?”

Rick blinks. “Because I don’t want them to,” he says.

***

Daryl doesn’t tell Merle what happened, again clinging to the “I don’t remember” line. He gets some shuteye after Rick takes him back to the cell and in the morning, true to Rick’s word, he writes up a report and the other officers shove Daryl out of the cell. Daryl tells Merle he’ll call his lawyer--the pretty redhead one who likes Merle’s baby blues. And then he finds himself at the impound lot, paying to get Merle’s truck out because his is in the shop, which is why he was riding around with Merle in the first place.

He spends the rest of the day pouring himself into errands he needs to do--calling the heating and air conditioning place he works for and begging for forgiveness, picking up groceries, mailing the rent and praying it gets there on time. He doesn’t think about the color violet or muscles so liquid Daryl feels like he could run his hands through them.

But even if Daryl is trying to truly and completely forget, his ass remembers. And so does the rest of his body which feels like it’s practically singing when he thinks about the way Rick slammed him down on the table, the way he touched him almost on the edge of too rough. Daryl bites his lip for a good part of the day, willing himself not to gasp or whimper at all the thoughts.

When the evening hits, Daryl is ready for bed. Because sleep is blank and it at least lets you turn off the switch for a bit. He tries to go to bed early and he lays there, staring at the ceiling. So when eleven hits, he gets back up again, watches one more episode of  _MythBusters_ , and tries again. Midnight comes and nothing. And one o'clock slips by just as fast.

And then it’s 1:45 and Daryl finds that he’s holding his breath. Part of him desperately wants to hear a knock at the door, wants to find Rick standing there all coiled and sex. Part of him wants to go back to the police station, slap whatever bitch Rick has taken from the cells out of his hand and say, “Fuck no. You’re all mine.” But Daryl doesn’t do that. Instead, he lays in his bed, pissed and frustrated.

And two a.m. slips by and nothing happens. But Daryl still can’t sleep. Because now he’s thinking about the man’s eyes, his tongue and how it rolls over Daryl’s skin so silky smooth. And his hips, how they worked himself into Daryl. How his nails felt running up Daryl’s back and Daryl shivers despite being under the covers. He thinks about touching himself, but he doesn’t. Because that bastard doesn’t get that. Daryl doesn’t back down and this is him not backing down. This is him refusing to be a pile of needy little want for any goddamn married cop vampire.

And then it’s three a.m. And then it’s three thirty. And then...then there’s a scratch outside of his window. Daryl freezes in bed and listens. It’s the barest of sounds, there one millisecond and gone the next. It could be the wind knocking the tree limb against the house. But Daryl knows what that sounds like. He’s completely aware of his own surroundings because this is his territory. He recognizes that if it wasn’t, he would be in a shit load of more trouble than he already is.

He jumps out of bed and pads across the room silently, reaching the drawer where he keeps all of his hunting gear. He pulls out his favorite knife, holding it in his hand steady. He might be paranoid. This might be the no sleep talking. But it could also be a fucking vampire trying to get in his window and Daryl doesn’t really want to take that chance. He watches the window, which is definitely locked, but Daryl doesn’t really think that will stop Richard Grimes.

He watches the shadows play against the glass and the half opened curtain, the familiar shape of the tree branches. He listens intently, but he hears nothing else. But then he senses something. Eyes on the back of his neck. A fucking mountain lion.

He swings around just as Rick decides to pounce and Daryl manages to shove him around and toss him into the other side of the room without using the knife. Rick stumbles, but stays on his feet and they stare at one another, caught in a standoff.

Rick is really light and so Daryl has the weight advantage and probably a little of the muscle, too. And damn, he’s been in far too many bar fights with Merle to not know how to handle himself. But Rick is a police officer. And he’s also, Daryl doesn’t forget,  _a freaking vampire_. So he might have special fighting skills or some shit that Daryl doesn’t know about.

Rick paces slightly, his shoulders tense and up like hackles. Daryl holds the knife still and sharp, shifting on the balls of his feet and waiting. “Whatcha doin’, Dick?” Daryl asks him and Rick rushes forward, but Daryl swings the knife out threateningly and Rick stops at the last moment before he gets to him and hisses. Daryl sees his teeth long and keen and then in the low light from the window, he looks at Rick’s eyes, completely red now, the irises bled out into the whites of his eyes. He thinks maybe this is what a vampire is like when he’s really and truly hungry. Daryl gets nervous. “Hey, baby,” he says, soothingly. “What are you doing here?” Rick doesn’t respond other than tense up even more and lunge for him again. Daryl flashes the knife again and Rick stops at the last moment same as before and growls, low in his throat. He paces.  _Shit,_  Daryl thinks.

He needs room to work. If Rick is going to actually come at him, he doesn’t want the bedroom furniture in the way, especially not with a full-length mirror hanging on the wall that just says  _glass_ and knives in a drawer that Daryl didn’t quite close. So Daryl slowly backs up to the hallway, heading to the living room. Rick follows him, always the same distance away-- _lunging distance_. But out of range of the knife.

Daryl leads Rick down the hallway and tries again, his voice nice and smooth. “Officer Grimes,” he says. “You drive all the way out here?” No response, not even a glimmer in his eye when Daryl talks. “Leave the station, huh? Didn’t bite anyone tonight, I’m guessing.” He gets to the end of the hallway and curves himself around into the wide open area between the couch and the TV mounted on the wall.

When they hit the open area, Rick starts to circle, taking long strides around Daryl. Daryl sets himself in one place and slowly turns, never showing his back to Rick. “Sssshhhh,” he says. “It’s okay. Just come here nice and slow and I’ll take care of ya.” He tries to reach out slowly for Rick, but Rick hisses again, a high and demonic sound with a little bit of a whine to it. Daryl holds out his hand, palm up. “Okay, baby.” He says. “Okay. What’s your plan here?”

Rick just keeps circling and Daryl thinks that he’s going to try to tire Daryl out, like any good predator would do. He’s waiting for Daryl to slip, just one small sign of weakness. But Daryl has the upper hand in at least the intelligence department, because Rick is clearly running on instinct now and has let all of his higher brain power go. So Daryl fakes him out. He waits just a fraction of a second too late as Rick circles and Rick gets a line of sight on his back. He springs, fast as a panther, but Daryl’s waiting. He spins around and grabs Rick’s shoulder, slams him down into the carpet and follows him down. Rick shrieks and tries to buck him off, but then Daryl is straddling him and he has the knife out, sitting pretty right up against Rick's throat. Rick feels the cold metal and he stills.

Daryl looks at him lying there on his back, his eyes wide and aggressive, blood red the whole lot of them with just the pupils black. Rick pants under him and stares down at Daryl’s hand. “Now,” Daryl say, “I don’t know if this can hurt you, but I’m figuring that anything that doesn’t have a head is going to have a hard time getting around. So,  _calm down_ , baby. Deep breaths.” Rick looks up at him and then down at Daryl’s knife hand. “Can you talk?” Daryl asks him and Rick doesn’t respond. “Guess you’re pretty fucked up,” he says. Rick just tilts his head ever so slightly at the sound of his voice.

Daryl watches as Rick furrows his brow and then opens his mouth, forms the word carefully and with great effort, like speaking under water. “H-hungry,” he says and his voice breaks at the end. He looks up at Daryl a little pleadingly now. “Hungry,” he says again, a little easier this time. And then Daryl watches as a complete transformation happens. Every bone in Rick’s body seems to go limp and Rick lays back, his eyes hooded now instead of wide and intensely watching. He pushes his groin up into Daryl’s hips and then he arches his back just slightly and says again, “ _Hungry_ ,” only this time it’s breathy and heavy with sex. He looks Daryl in the eye and then tilts his head just slightly. Daryl lets up off the knife and watches as Rick turns to it, freaking licks up the blade, his eyes staring straight into Daryl’s. “ _HUNGRY_ ,” he says with feeling.

Daryl grunts and looks down at Rick, all desperate and supplicating. “Okay, Rick,” he says softly. “Okay. I’m going to let you go and you’re just going to take a little, alright? Just enough to take away the edge so you can talk to me.” He slowly lifts the knife away at the same time that he offers his left wrist. When the knife gets just an inch or so from Rick’s throat, he springs forward fast as a light switch, as the speed of sound, as electricity through wire. He grabs Daryl’s wrist and he sinks his teeth in without caring and Daryl cries out in pain as one of Rick’s diamond hard teeth crushes his wrist bone. “Mother _fucker_ ,” he says, but Rick has ahold of him now, a vice grip, his jaw locked. Rick moans around his wrist, and Daryl watches as the blood in his eyes start to recede, the sclera going from red to pink to the white they’re supposed to be. Daryl watches as the blood seeps out of them, pouring back into the irises and when Rick’s eyes are white again, all normal except for the red ring around his pupils, Daryl pushes him off. Rick growls at first, but when Daryl pushes harder, he looks up at him and then releases him, falling back onto the carpet.

Daryl’s wrist is throbbing in pain. He looks down at Rick, still straddling him, his knife right beside them. “I need to pick that up?” he asks Rick and Rick shakes his head. He looks at Daryl’s wrist, bleeding and at least fractured, if not broken.

“I’m sorry,” Rick whispers and then he reaches for it. Daryl tries to pull it back, but when Rick touches his skin, feather light, he stops. He lets Rick pull the injured arm back to him and then Rick is licking at the puncture wounds, sucking at the spot where his tooth cut into the bone so badly. Daryl hears a little pop and he flinches as a sharp stabbing pain cuts through his body. And then...nothing. He feels normal. No pain. As if nothing happened. Rick lets go of his wrist and lets his head hit the carpet again. Daryl looks at it, finds no wounds and no blood.

“Huh,” Daryl says and rotates his wrist, feels it working exactly as it should be. “That why you’re so much of a licker?”

Rick shrugs and reaches up, puts his nails on the plain white T-shirt Daryl is wearing and scrapes his nails down it. “Still hungry,” he says. “Talking? Not good at talking. Not now.”

Daryl nods slowly. “You drive yourself here?” he asks.

Rick digs his nails into the center of Daryl’s chest and gasps. Daryl feels Rick under him, hard. “Wanted you,” Rick says. “ _Wanted you_. Never...never wanted a man before, but wanted you.” He fists his hand in Daryl’s shirt. “The way you smell. The way you  _taste._ ” Rick throws his head back. “So hungry for you.”

“So you decided to break into my house and attack me?”

Rick whimpers and looks up at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I...I can’t think straight with the...the...haze.” He shakes his head. “Just thought about the way you taste. Just thought about how hungry I was. You…” He swallows. “You gonna throw me out? Or...or can I stay?”

Daryl examines his options. He should tell this guy no, kick him out. He really,  _really_ should. There is no scenario in which he should say yes to a bloodthirsty vampire who is a police officer and has his brother locked up in jail and who’s also married and mostly likely gay sexually repressed and who also just broke into his house and attacked him and broke his  _wrist._  But yet he finds himself saying yes, because this guy is the only one that’s peaked his interest in three years and, to be really honest, he’s the only one that Daryl has ever been this hot for.

So Daryl leans over him and tells him he can stay. Rick’s eyes go wide and deep with lust and he wraps an arm around Daryl, trying to switch their positions, but Daryl grabs his hands and pins them above his head. “No,” Daryl says. “Not like that. You got your kicks last night.” He smiles nice and slow. “My turn.” He looks down at Rick, all slithering want and he leans down slowly, puts his lips right next to Rick’s ear. “You ever had a cock in you?” he asks Rick and Rick lets out a breathy no. Daryl smiles. “Thought so,” he says. “No one’s ever been able to put a harness on you, huh? No one’s been able to control you like that.” He smiles and then pulls back to look in Rick’s eyes. “But I’m going to,” he says. “I’m going to pin you down and you’re going to be my little bitch, aren’t you?” He smiles. “My little mountain lion.”

Rick looks at him with huge, wide eyes and he nods. “Yes,” he says. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Good,” Daryl says. “And you know what good little lions get?” Rick raises his eyebrows, waiting. “They get to bite the hell out of me while I’m fucking them.” Rick gasps and Daryl smiles again. “So you just lay right here and don’t move, okay? And I will be  _right_ back.” Daryl stands up off of him and grabs his knife. He sets it on the endtable by the couch, far enough away from the spot where he plans to fuck Rick that there won’t be any accidents, but close enough by that if Rick goes crazy again and he needs it, he has it. He walks to the bedroom, grabs the bottle he keeps in his nightstand and grabs a belt from the closet, too.

He walks back to the living room and Rick is laying there exactly how Daryl left him, so still Daryl wonders if he even moved one muscle. “Such a good boy,” Daryl says and falls down to straddle him again. “Take off your shirt.” Rick does, leaning up and whipping it off, throwing it over his head and not caring where it falls. Daryl runs his hand over Rick’s chest appreciately. “Wondered what you looked like under all of that,” Daryl says. “Kind of like it.” He holds out the belt for Rick to see. “Give me your hands.”

Rick blinks at him and then stares at the belt. He slowly holds up his hands and then Daryl is wrapping the belt around his wrists, tying it tight enough to feel, but not so tight that it will be uncomfortable. “Not going to have those nails drawing blood, no we’re not,” Daryl says. He pushes Rick’s hands above his head again. “Besides, I want you to feel it.” He growls in Rick’s ear. “I want you to feel all that power you had last night seeping away from you. I want you to know that I’m going to own you right now. Every move your body makes, every thought you have in that head. They’re going to be  _mine._  Aren’t they?”

Rick gasps out “yes,” and arches into Daryl. Daryl smiles.

“One thing, though,” Daryl says and pulls Rick’s chin down from where Rick is throwing his head back against the carpet. “What’s your wife’s name?”

Rick blinks at him and frowns. “L-Lori,” he says and Daryl nods.

“Okay, then. If you don’t want me to fuck you--”

“No,” Rick breaks in. “I do, I  _do._ ”

Daryl digs his hand into Rick’s chin. “Ssssh. No talking. If you don’t want me to fuck you,” he repeats, “then you’re going to say her name. You’re going to tell me ‘Lori’ and when I hear that, I’m going to stop. Alright?” Because Daryl will be damned if he hears this man call out his wife’s name when Daryl is deep within him.

Rick nods. “Okay,” he says and then looks at Daryl from under his eyelashes. “Fuck me?” He lets go of the tiniest purr and Daryl groans at how sexy the man can sound.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Daryl says and then he’s tugging Rick’s pants off so that Rick is naked. He leans over Rick and kisses his neck, plastering his still clothed body to Rick so that Rick will recognize the difference between who has the power and who doesn’t. Rick arches up into him and wraps his legs around Daryl, his feet sliding against the fabric of Daryl’s pants. Daryl holds Rick’s bound hands, digs them into the carpet and then scrapes his teeth over Rick’s skin and even though his teeth don’t have points, Rick still shivers.

“Oh, fuck me,” Rick says into his ear. “Hungry for you.” And who can resist that? So Daryl leans up and he whips his shirt off and tugs his pants off as well. And then he opens the bottle and he squeezes a little on his hand, reaching down and sliding one finger into Rick.

Rick bites his own lip and then gasps. “Going to be different,” Daryl says, “than last night. I’m going to make you squirm for it. Take so long you’re fucking begging me.”

“I’m already begging you,” Rick gasps out. “ _Get in me_.”

“No,” Daryl says. “You don’t get to make the demands.” He reaches up and grabs Rick’s throat, squeezes just a little and Rick’s eyes go cross-eyed with want. Daryl lets go of him for a beat, waits to hear a woman’s name on Rick’s lips, but there is none, so he presses down again and watches as Rick’s cock twitches at the feeling. “Like it, don’t you?” Daryl says. “Being dominated.”

Rick can’t speak, but he nods as best as he can with Daryl’s hand right there. Daryl adds in a second finger and moves them slow in Rick. He lets up the pressure on Rick’s neck and Rick gasps, throws his head back and moans. “Fu--” But Daryl knows what he’s going to say and no, he’s not going to fuck him just yet. So he presses down again to make Rick silent and Rick bucks his hips up.

Daryl lets his fingers go slowly in and out of Rick until Rick is practically thrashing with want. And then he pulls his hand away and he slides himself up right next to Rick’s entrance and watches as Rick watches him with wide, red eyes. Daryl releases his neck and says to Rick softly, “Tell me who’s about to fuck you, baby.” He runs his thumb over the red mark on Rick’s neck and Rick tilts his head, grabs his finger in his mouth and sucks on it, no teeth. Daryl groans and Rick releases his thumb.

“Daryl,” he says and Daryl smiles.

“Tell me again, Officer Grimes,” Daryl says and lifts Rick’s leg up to his shoulder. He positions himself and then presses the head in slowly.

“ _Daryl_ ,” Rick gasps out and then he throws his head back and whines. His hands grasp at each other in the belt and his nails dig into the leather and the carpet. “Daryl. Fuck me. Please, fuck me?” He looks up at Daryl, meeting his eyes and Daryl has never seen anything quite so sexy as a vampire spread out underneath him, letting him slide his cock up into his body, smooth as river stones.

So Daryl thrusts forward, rough but not too fast. Rick is tight and he clenches himself around Daryl, his hips rocking with Daryl’s rhythm. Daryl pulls out almost all the way and he watches the expression on Rick’s face, his mouth pulled into an “o” as Daryl presses forward into him again. “How hard you want it?” Daryl asks him and puts his hand on Rick’s throat, not pressing down, just letting his fingers rest there,  _reminding_ him.

Rick gasps and Daryl watches his whole body shiver. “Make me yours,” Rick tells him and then meets his eyes again. “Show me how you treat your bitch.”

Daryl growls and he presses his hand down on Rick’s throat. Rick squeaks and then he doesn’t make any sound. He wraps the leg that Daryl doesn’t have around his shoulder around Daryl’s waist and Daryl bucks forward into him hard, causing Rick’s body to slide up along the carpet. He grins at the thought of the marks the material is making on Rick’s back and so he does it again, pulls out almost all the way and then slams forward hard, all the way to the hilt and watches as Rick’s mouth opens in a scream, but nothing makes it past his lips. Ricks’ hands squirm and so Daryl lets up on his neck so he can gasp out and then pant and then Rick looks at him, eyes heavy-lidded and wanting and on a particular hard thrust, he rasps out, “ _Hungry for you_.”

Daryl’s rhythm slips and his cock twitches within Rick’s tight body. “You’re right, baby,” he says and he leans over him. “You’re being so good.” He reaches up and grabs Rick’s bound hands, puts his neck in them like Rick’s arms are a necklace, and then guides Rick’s head to his throat.

Rick kisses his neck and scrapes his teeth against the skin. “Fuck me like you’re going to break me,” he hisses into Daryl’s ear and then he bites down. When Rick’s teeth sink in, Daryl cries out and he thrusts forward hard into Rick, which just causes Rick to bite down harder which causes Daryl to fuck faster and then they feed off of each other like symbiotic energy and Daryl’s mind goes blank except for the things his body feels--Rick sucking at his neck, Rick’s cock caught between their bodies, his own deep within Rick, sliding out and in, out and in, tight, pressure, hard, wanting, needing.

Daryl reaches between them to grab Rick, thinking he’s going to stroke him off, but then Rick says “ _No,_ ” against his skin. “Don’t touch me. It’s hot,” he whines in Daryls’ ear. “You fucking me and me biting you. I want to…” he groans into Daryl’s skin. “Want to come just thinking about it.”

Daryl nods and then threads his fingers in Rick’s hair, guiding Rick’s lips back to his throat and then he presses all of his skin to Rick’s, traps his cock between them and starts pounding him again, driving him into the carpet, and he lets Rick’s body wash over him--the little twitches and gasps he makes, the pressure as he sucks hard and then lets up on Daryl’s neck in perfect rhythm to the one that Daryl has set deep inside of him.

Daryl feels himself getting to the edge, so close, but he holds back, because there’s one thing he wants to do first. He rips Rick’s mouth off of him and presses Rick’s hands back into the carpet. He looks down at the cop and the blood smeared all over his mouth, the essence of  _Daryl._   Rick’s eyes are the color of fire, of rubies, of passion and sex. His mouth is parted and he’s panting out Daryl’s name and so Daryl pushes back in hard and watches Rick’s body jerk with the rough motion. He leans down and he captures Rick’s mouth, diving his tongue in and Rick moans loud and echoing into the darkness of Daryl’s living room.

Daryl kisses him hard, bruising his lips on Rick’s and then he feels those long teeth in Rick’s mouth and he runs his tongue along the tip of one of them, feather light, but it still breaks the surface and then Rick leans up in attack mode, sucks on Daryl’s tongue roughly and it’s so hot, so forceful, so  _perfect_ that Daryl’s whole body hitches and then he’s slamming in again once, twice, three times and then he’s coming hard, spilling himself into Rick and Rick gasps out around Daryl’s mouth and then his head is falling back and Daryl watches as he arches up, his nails raking down the carpet and pulling up little fibers and then his body shudders underneath Daryl, his muscles getting tighter and he’s coming between them, his cock twitching against Daryl’s skin and despite the fact that Daryl is done, he has to press forward once more and Rick cries out at that.

Daryl lets him finish trembling below him and then he slowly reaches up and undoes the belt around Rick’s hands. Rick’s hands fall free, but he goes boneless, his legs falling off of Daryl’s body where they were tight against him, his hips and his stomach and his back settling down against the floor. Daryl pulls out slowly and Rick whines at the loss of contact. Daryl watches him lying there, his eyes less red and more violet.

He touches Rick’s neck and then curves his hand to slide into Rick’s hair, thinking about the novelty of his fingers catching in curls. “You wanna stay?” he asks. “Could move to the bed.”

Rick looks at him, his eyes somehow intense and tired at the same time. He nods slowly. Daryl helps him stand and then he walks Rick to the bathroom, cleans him up and they fall in bed together. Daryl is asleep before he sees Rick’s eyes change from violet to their true color.

***

When Daryl wakes up, the first thing he sees are eyes as clear and bright and blue as a winter sky. He takes in a sharp breath despite himself.

Rick is lying across from him on the bed, not touching him, but close enough that all he needs to do is lean his body forward a couple more inches. Daryl blinks at him, sure that he would have woken up to an empty house with just a stained and ripped carpet for company. But Rick is here. “Hey,” Daryl says slowly and watches Rick’s eyelashes flutter as he blinks.

“Hey,” Rick says and his voice sounds different, less raspy and breathy. Deeper, Daryl thinks. More human. Rick swallows hard. “I’m going to go,” he says and looks away from Daryl. “I just wanted to wait until you woke up to say...I’m sorry. I’m  _so_ sorry.”

“For what?” Daryl says, his voice rough from sleep.

Rick looks up at him wide-eyed. “For...everything. For breaking into your house. For hurting your wrist. For, I don’t know, taking you that first night. I didn’t mean to…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to,” he finishes, not elaborating.

Daryl studies him, the lines of his body lying limp on the bed. His skin looks pale and he looks tired, worn out and flat, like a deflated balloon. Daryl notices that his nails look normal and so do his teeth. His eyes no longer carry the fire they had the previous night, instead hiding emotion and the human need to explain everything. Daryl thinks of him less as a predator now, or really still one, just a cat curled in its den, hiding. Injured, Daryl thinks. Scared.

He reaches out slowly, his hand sliding through the heavy air between them and he puts his hand lightly on Rick’s shoulder. Rick flinches and lets out the tiniest sound that Daryl thinks might be a growl. “It’s okay,” Daryl says and then he scoots his body closer. Rick looks at him, wary, but lets him and then they are right next to each other, pressed up and Daryl slides his hand down Rick’s arm, feels his skin, burning hot. He frowns and opens his mouth, but Rick cuts him off.

“It’s like a fever,” he says. “It’s always there.”

Daryl just nods slowly and then he pulls Rick in. Rick sinks into him, boneless, and Daryl wonders again just what he is--his skin cool at night like he’s been rolling in the snow, hot in the day like he’s walked ten miles in the Georgia heat. “You said you didn’t know what you are?” Daryl says and holds Rick to him.

Rick puts his nose in the junction of Daryl’s chin and his neck and breathes him in. “No,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“Were you...were you always like this?” Daryl asks and Rick shakes his head against Daryl’s throat.

“No, not always.” He nuzzles into Daryl and his body leans into him, sliding up so nicely against Daryl’s chest and his legs and his arms. Daryl doesn’t ask a follow-up question, too enthralled with the way Rick is squirming against him. Ever so softly, Rick starts to purr.

Daryl rubs little circles on his back and Rick purrs harder. Daryl can feel the vibrations coming up out of his chest and the sound is soothing in the otherwise silent house. They lay there, legs tangled and chests pressed together, Rick’s body molten under Daryl’s touch.

But then Rick stops suddenly, his body going still and the precious sound that Daryl is beginning to crave dissipates. Rick pulls back slowly, like it takes him great energy. “I...I didn’t know I could do that,” he says and then bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to stop saying that, baby,” Daryl says and runs his hand through Rick’s hair. “You were just a little hungry last night, that’s all.”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” Rick tells him. “Not in a long time. I...I don’t know what’s happening to me. And I’m sorry I got you involved in any of this. I don’t even  _know_ you--”

“Know me well enough,” Daryl says. Rick swallows and looks like he’s about to bolt, so Daryl asks him, “How did it happen?”

Rick blinks. “I was...we were on a call. A guy in the park who was scaring kids. We got there and he looked like,” Rick shrugs, “just a homeless guy. A little off his rocker, maybe, but not too dangerous. We--Shane and I, my partner--we walked over to him. I took lead and asked him what he was doing in the park. And then he flew off the handle. He rushed me and he  _bit_ my arm and so Shane had his gun up and the guy started saying these, I don’t know, strings of words that didn’t make any sense. And then you know what he did? He bit  _himself._  Tore out a hunk of his skin and then he…” Rick looks at the ceiling, glassy eyed for a minute. “We were all shouting. Shane and I were telling him to get on his knees and he just, he  _spit_ it. He spit it at me, right in my mouth as I was yelling and I...I spit and I gagged and I tried to get it out, but I don’t think it all got out. I think it’s like a disease that infects you.”

Daryl keeps running his fingers through Rick’s hair, trying to soothe him as he talks. “How long ago was that?” he asks.

Rick shrugs. “Six months. At first, I just felt kind of weak during the day and just hyper aware at night. And then I started craving things. I started ordering steak rare and just sucking up the juices, you know? And then Lori started taking me to the doctor and they ran all these tests, but they couldn’t find anything. And then they saw that all of my counts were pretty low and I was acting like I’d lost a lot of blood. So they set up a transfusion. But I couldn’t...I couldn’t stop  _smelling_ it and I grabbed it and before I knew what was happening, I had it open and I was  _drinking_ it and…” Rick swallows. “They put me a psych ward. For two weeks.”

Daryl stills his hand in Rick’s hair and he looks down at him, Rick’s eyes all wide and open, begging Daryl for something that he can’t say. Daryl leans down and puts his lips on Rick’s temple. “Ssssh, baby,” he says. “It’s okay.” Rick leans forward, nuzzles his nose into Daryl’s chin.

“Why are you listening to me?” Rick says and his voice is heartbreaking, all soft and timid, like if he asks, Daryl might stop.

Daryl shrugs. “Want to know about you,” he says. “Tell me more.”

Rick nuzzles in, his movements sluggish. “I started to figure things out,” he says. “I bit Lori one night and she freaked out. She started crying halfway through it and I felt like...I felt the weight of what I’d done to her, you know? And I just thought about how much I wanted her to not remember it, because I couldn’t stand her eyes looking at me like that. And then...she didn’t. She didn’t remember. Just like that. Poof. Gone. So I figured out I could bite people and if I wanted them to, they would just forget. And I needed it. I was so...uneven. Sometimes I would be okay. The same old Rick. And others I would be this monster, this--”

“Lion?” Daryl supplies.

Rick pulls back to look and him and nods. “Yeah. Lion. And I realized I couldn’t  _not_  drink because I would go crazy. But I was so afraid. I’d never, I mean, before you...I’d never bitten anyone twice. And not for long. I didn’t know if I would drain them or whatever. Kill them. Or turn them into me. I didn’t want to hurt anyone innocent. So one night, I replaced the security cameras at the station with a looped video and I took a guy into the interrogation room and I bit him and he didn’t remember the next day. And he didn’t turn and he looked okay. So I kept doing it. But only the druggies. Because they tasted bad and so it would make me want to stop instead of get caught in the moment and accidentally hurt someone.”

“And that’s why you took me?” Daryl says, more to encourage Rick to keep talking than actually asking the question.

Rick nods. “Yeah. Only you didn’t taste like that--like cheap beer that’s been thrown in a mixing bowl with salt and paprika and Worcestershire and all kinds of nasty shit. That’s why I didn’t make you forget that first night. I was distracted and you tasted like…” Rick sighs happily and puts his hand on Daryl’s neck, “like a thousand dollar bottle of whiskey. It was so heavy and sweet in my mouth. Not like Lori and her fear. Not like those junkies, all spiced up and gritty. Smooth.”

Daryl looks down at him and sees that Rick’s eyes are closed and his mouth is parted, breathing heavily. So Daryl does what comes naturally to him. He leans down and he kisses Rick, softly this time, just capturing his mouth at first and Rick jerks and whimpers and then Daryl is sucking Rick’s bottom lip in and Rick is gasping and so Daryl kisses him thoroughly, slipping his tongue into Rick’s mouth and Rick twines his own with it and it’s sweeter, almost delicate. There are no long nails digging into Daryl’s back, no pointed teeth for him to break his tongue on. There’s just the openness of Rick’s mouth and his body pliant under Daryl’s touch.

Rick begins to purr again, right into his mouth and Daryl sighs contentedly. But then Rick is jerking away, pushing at him weakly and sitting up. “No,” he says to himself. “No, no. No, I have to go.” He tries to stand, but his legs won’t hold him and so he collapses back on the bed, sitting on it with his head hanging down.

Daryl sits up slowly. “Why you so keen on leaving?” he asks.

Rick squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth, but closes it again. He stays stubbornly silent.

Daryl scoffs and takes a guess. “That wife you got at home, huh?”

Rick looks up at him, eyes clouded over. “No,” he says softly. “Lori...she stopped loving me a long time ago. Before any of this. She…” He laughs weakly. “She’s banging my partner, Shane. When I’m at the doctor. At night when I’m gone. When she says she’s going to the bank or the insurance company or the grocery store. She doesn’t think I know, but I know. I see them. I  _smell_ him on her.”

“Why you still with her, then?” Daryl asks.

Rick shakes his head. “Have a boy,” he says. “Carl. And I can’t…” He shakes his head and sets his jaw. “Can barely walk to the bathroom in the day by myself. I wouldn’t make it alone. And she’s all I got.”

“That what sunlight does to you?” Daryl asks and sits his elbows on his raised knees, clutching his left wrist--the one Rick bit--in his right hand.

Rick nods, slowly. “Yeah. And if I look at it, it makes me blind. Completely. The first time I tried to go out in the day...four hours at the optometrist. Fuck.”

Daryl nods and stares at the comforter of his bed. “So if you don’t care about your wife, why you so keen on jumping out of bed?”

Rick blinks at him. “I’m not gay,” he says. “I’ve never done this.”

Daryl laughs. “Think there’s a lot of shit you’ve probably done in the last six months you didn’t used to. Probably half of it you’ve done in the last few days.”

Rick swallows hard. “Look, I...I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what any of this means,  _what_ I am. And I just...I can’t process this, too. My head is just spinning, it’s  _spinning._ ” Rick puts the heel of one hand up to his eye and grounds it in. “I feel like I’m floating. Like my body is moving on it’s own and I’m not here. Like I’m losing myself.”

“Maybe you’re just changing,” Daryl says. “Happens all the time.”

“You…,” Rick’s voice cracks. “I don’t know you. What do I know about you? But being with you last night, this morning...it’s the first time I’ve felt grounded in months. And that scares me.”

Daryl looks around at his room, the open drawer of his hunting supplies, the mirror on the wall that, yes, has Rick’s reflection. “I work for an air conditioning company,” he tells Rick. “I have a dumbass brother who’s in and out of jail, but I keep myself pretty straight. I’m queer as a three-dollar bill. Spend half my nights watching fucking  _MythBusters_ or  _Pawn Stars_ or  _The Real Housewives of Orange County._  I like to hunt. Spend a lot of time outdoors. I can ride a horse and I can shoot a bow and I’m not that great of a fisher, but I get by.”

“And you cater to crazy fucks who break into your window at night,” Rick adds.

“Ssshh,” Daryl says and reaches for him now, touches his chin and tilts Rick’s head up until Rick looks him in the eye. “I like you,” Daryl says. “The way you don’t give a fuck. It’s refreshing. Think it’s sexy how your body moves, too. And sure, you were a little crazy last night. But you were hungry, too, weren’t you? Seems like that does things to you.”

“I have a strict schedule,” Rick tells him. “And if I don’t keep to it, things get wonky.”

“See?” Daryl tells him. “You got it all worked out. You know what’s going on. So what if you’re different than you were last year? Aren’t we all?”

Rick blinks at him and nods slowly. “Can you...can you take me home? Or call me a cab? I can’t…”

Daryl doesn’t let him finish, he just nods. “I’ll take you home,” he says and stands up to get dressed. He helps Rick gather his clothes and finds a pair of Merle’s sunglasses, the bigass aviators that Merle says make him look cool and that will shield most of the sun from Rick’s forward and peripheral vision. He helps Rick stand and after a moment, Rick is settled enough to walk, so Daryl takes him to the truck and opens the door for him, lets Rick get in and he shuts the door carefully.

Rick tells Daryl where his house is and Daryl drives him there and if Daryl goes a little under the speed limit, Rick doesn’t say anything. They pull into a subdivision and Rick tells Daryl to stop. Daryl pulls up right next to a tree for some measure of shade and turns to Rick. Rick is looking at one of the yards several houses up and Daryl nods in that direction. “That your place?” he asks Rick and Rick nods.

“You coming back tonight?” Daryl asks, because he wants to be prepared either way.

Rick shrugs. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “Probably.” He looks off at the red siding of his house, the manicured lawn. “I don’t want to go,” he says and turns his head to Daryl. Daryl can’t see his eyes through the sunglasses and he hates it, already used to gazing into aquamarine and the clearness of a mountain lake.

“Could take you back,” Daryl says even though he knows Rick will tell him no.

Rick shakes his head. “I have a doctor’s appointment,” he says and laughs mirthlessly. “Lori insists. But they’re just going to keep pricking me and telling me that I’m a freak and Lori will just nod along and ask me how she’s going to explain all this to Carl.”

Daryl leans over and takes the sunglasses off of Rick. Rick blinks and squints but Daryl puts his hands on either side of Rick’s eyes, cupping them so that he can shade Rick’s vision. He leans forward and he locks Rick’s gaze in his, inches apart so that no light gets through. Rick looks at him, his eyes hooded with more than just the shadows of Daryl’s hands. “Rick,” Daryl says, “don’t let small minded people who can’t understand you dictate what you are.”

Rick blinks and he nods almost imperceptibly. Daryl offers to help him out of the truck, but he says he’s got it. Daryl watches him put the sunglasses back on and slide out, shutting the door so weakly, Daryl has to reach other and open it again so he can slam it shut. He watches Rick walk across the road and onto the sidewalk, his feet stumbling across the concrete. He waits until Rick gets to the door and a woman opens it. Daryl watches her angry motions and then she’s grabbing Rick around the shoulders and Daryl’s skin crawls with jealousy. She guides him into the house and shuts the door and Daryl feels the world weighted and heavy across his shoulders.

***

Daryl manages to get home, take a quick shower, and rush out the door, making it to work exactly as the clock ticks over to noon. For the next six hours, he pours himself into broken air conditioners and faulty systems. He apologizes to Clint no less than five times for his absence and Merle’s shitty behavior. Clint forgives him and Daryl is happy that they’ve become close enough that Clint understands “Merle had his stash in the cupholder and I was in the truck.”

Daryl crawls under houses in the Georgia heat, walks into basements and utility rooms and bangs at wire and metal until his whole body is protesting like it usually does at the end of his shift. And if he is a little rough with the air conditioners that have to come out to be replaced, if he bangs hard at the side of units that he’s called out on at least once a month, if he’s particularly growling when the wiring doesn’t work like he wants it to, he most certainly isn’t thinking of Lori Grimes and her greasy hands all over Rick’s body.

Daryl’s in a foul mood when he gets out of work at six, but he checks his phone anyway. He finds a text waiting there from an unknown number and he opens it: “Busy tonight? I’m off work. Can be there at dusk. -Rick.” Despite Daryl’s cool outward appearance, his heart jumps a little at the words and he fights down the corners of his mouth that threaten a smile. He wonders how Rick got his number and then thinks  _oh yeah, cop_  and that seems pretty illegal, Rick snatching his number from the file for personal use. But Daryl can’t find it in himself to care, because all he can see right now are pretty red eyes and teeth sunk into his neck as deep as quicksand.

Daryl texts back: “Yeah. My house?”

He sits in Merle’s truck and waits with baited breath like a little school girl until his phone dings. “Sure. I’ll take you out somewhere nice as a thank you. Be thinking of where you want.”

Daryl blinks and reads the text again, because now he has another problem. What the fuck is he going to wear?

***

Daryl doesn’t know if this is a date, but if it is a date, then it’ll be his first in three years and that thought just sends little tingles of nervousness up and down his spine. Besides that, he has other things to think about. Like, where do you go with a creature of the night? What does he like to do? Does he eat regular food or just your neck? Can you take pictures with him? Does he like movies? And also, it’s a cop, so nothing illegal, not that Daryl wants to do anything illegal. Merle’s got that covered, thanks.

And he’s married. Daryl hates that more than the other two. He’s  _married_ which makes Daryl the dick on the side, the other man, the homewrecker, the man whore who stole  _Lori Grimes’_  husband, not that Lori hadn’t just stuck him out on in a display case with a big “free to good home” pinned to the front of his uniform. Daryl hates that bitch.

Rick arrives slightly after dusk and Daryl wrinkles his nose in the mirror at the polo shirt and nice black jeans he’s dusted off from that time in high school he tried to be “hip.” He thinks if Rick gets them dirty then whatever. He hates fancy clothes anyway. When Daryl opens the door, Rick blinks at him, his eyes still the gorgeous blue of little spring bluets.

“Hey,” Daryl grunts and looks at the ground awkwardly. “Didn’t know what shit to wear. Should I change?”

Rick just shakes his head and scours his gaze over Daryl appreciately. “No...it’s perfect. Where do you want to go?”

Daryl shrugs. “Don’t care,” he says.

Rick bites his lip. “Well, it’s not for me. I don’t eat anything solid anymore except for hospital jello cups and most days I just chuck them in the trash anyway and pretend I downed them.”

Daryl blinks. “Well, then,” he says, “let’s just run by the Burger King and come on back home.”

Rick gives him a confident look, but it doesn’t carry to the tucked down nervousness of his shoulder blades or the shifting of his feet. “I’m not going to take you to  _Burger King_  on our first d-date.”

Daryl is torn between smiling like a lunatic at the word date and frowning hard at the prospect of having to go to some fancy French restaurant where he can’t order without asking the waitress, “The hell is this?”

But Rick doesn’t give him much opportunity to react. Instead, he’s barreling forward with conversation. “Olive Garden,” He says. “We’re going to Olive Garden.”

Daryl blinks and says “Okay.” And then they’re crawling into Rick’s car, a little bitty green thing, and Rick is driving them into town.

Rick clears his throat. “I don’t...I don’t want to talk about her tonight, but just so you know...Lori thinks I’m working.” He swallows. “I...if this…” He sighs. “If it goes somewhere. I mean, serious. And if it’s just fucking, then okay. I’ll take you back to your house and we can fuck or we can not. But I mean, if this is going to be dating and if it goes well and all, then...I’ll tell her. Or divorce her. Or whatever. I’m not that kind of guy. But I’ve never _done_ this, you see, and I kind of just want to see where it goes right now without thinking about all the baggage that I know I’ve got spinning around the conveyor belt. You know?”

Daryl reaches over and touches Rick’s chin, feather light. “Okay,” he says. “That’s fine. We’ll just see how it goes, okay?”

Rick brakes the car at a stoplight and looks over at him, biting his lip. “You think that it’s worth a shot? I mean, you should totally, 100%, say no. I know that.”

Daryl leans back in the seat and shrugs. “You’re right. You’re several grades away from my perfect guy list.”

Rick snorts. “Figure psycho gets me off of everyone’s.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Not that part. Your...what do you call it even? Vampireness?”

“Don’t say that word,” Rick says and hits the gas as the light turns green. “ _Hate_ that word.”

“Okay, then,” Daryl says. “Your pretty red eyes.” Rick ducks his head down just slightly. “I like that. I like your long teeth.” Daryl reaches across the expanse between them again and runs his nails along Rick’s neck. He hears the smallest shiver of a purr and he grins. “The way you purred this morning, just like a cat.” He scratches behind Rick’s ear and Rick’s eyelids flutter closed for a millisecond before he bats Daryl’s hand away.

“M’driving,” Rick says.

Daryl smiles and chuckles. “Anyway, I like it. Figure you’re right dangerous, but I can handle it. You just might have to get used to a knife against your throat every so often if you go all mute on me again.” Daryl pauses. “It’s the other stuff. I never thought I’d get with a cop. Got too many bad memories of flashing lights showing up at my doorstep to arrest my daddy. And then Merle.” He shrugs. “But even beside that, there’s the you married thing. _Hate_ that.”

Rick slides his hand across the cover of the steering wheel and Daryl watches his fingers move, silk against the fabric. “So should I take you back?”

“Fuck no,” Daryl says. “Keep driving.”

And that’s it for the “what are we doing” conversation. They settle down into the car and Rick asks Daryl about his job. Daryl tells him about Clint and about the runs he makes around town. He tells him about some of the tougher jobs during the day, like the Petersons and their central air unit that’s on the fritz, only they can’t really figure out what’s wrong with it. In return, Daryl asks Rick what’s it like to be a cop. Rick says he mostly works at the station now, but he regales Daryl with tales of him and Shane out on calls. He talks about serious ones like the attempted murder a couple of years back and funny ones, too, like the time a girl got arrested for mooning her own lawyer.

They pull into the Olive Garden parking lot and go in. Rick asks for a table and they’re seated immediately in the corner, which is fine with Daryl. Daryl orders something cheap, but not the cheapest thing on the menu and, to his surprise, Rick orders something too. “You can take it home,” Rick says in a familiar kind of way and Daryl wonders about Rick’s wife. He can almost hear the hissing conversation-- _order something, I don’t care if you’re hungry_ \--and it makes his fingers itch.

And then, after they’ve ordered, silence. It’s the awkward space of a first date, glances at the table, at the other customers nearby, at the wall. Daryl thinks about the way Rick moved in the police station, the way he moved through Daryl’s house. He thinks about Rick in him and him in Rick and how confident red-eyes Rick is. And then he thinks about the Rick this morning, timid and afraid, cornered with his hackles up.

He wants to draw Rick out of his shell, out into the open savannah so that Daryl can see the liquid of his movements, the sheer playful confidence he has and the under the surface whisper of risk, of threat. So Daryl reaches out and puts his hand ever so lightly over Rick’s. “I’m going to the restroom,” he says and then he gives him heavy eyes. “Come after me in a minute.” He stands and he walks back to the bathroom, happily finding that it has only two stalls and they’re both empty. He waits by the door and when it swings open, it’s Rick. Daryl locks the door behind him and then he smiles up at him and holds out his arm. “Figure it’s dinner,” he says.

Rick looks at his skin and then up at Daryl. “Oh, I’m not quite starving yet,” he says and Daryl shakes his head.

“Let’s try a new thing,” he says. “Let’s try you eating at regular intervals and  _not_ forcing yourself into starvation.”

Rick blinks his blue eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t even know if I  _can_. Not when I’m not...like that.”

Daryl leans forward into his personal space, stretching his spine out and swaying dangerously in front of Rick. “Let’s see if I can make you,” Daryl says and then he shoves Rick back onto the sink counter. Rick stumbles back and looks at him with surprised eyes, but a moan escapes his mouth and that’s all Daryl needs to know that this Rick likes it rough, too. So he slides up to him, fast and loose and kisses Rick so hard that he shoves Rick’s head back into the bathroom mirror. Daryl bends over him and then he growls against Rick’s mouth, “Bite my lip.”

Rick looks at him for just a beat and then he closes his eyes, kisses Daryl back inch for inch and then he bites him. Daryl feels the pattern of flattened front teeth and then the slightly higher volume pressure of Rick’s canines.And then he feels something piercing and Rick opens his mouth, gasping loudly and his eyes are honest and speckled with violet. Daryl can see his teeth coming down-- _retractable_ , Daryl thinks--and then he hears the metallic sound of Rick’s nails scraping at the counter. Rick purrs loud and heavy and then he slides off of the counter like he’s swimming through air and plasters himself to Daryl, moaning against his mouth. “Mmm,” Rick says, “Daryl.”

Daryl grins at his success. “Fucking bite me, baby,” he says and exposes his neck and Rick doesn’t have to be told twice. He latches on like he’s made to do this and Daryl thinks, god, he just might be. Daryl wraps his left arm around Rick’s upper back and puts his right next to Rick’s hip. Rick whines at his skin and sucks, writhing against him and Daryl pushes him back onto the counter. Rick lifts one of his legs and wraps it around Daryl, keeping his balance only with Daryl’s groin pressed to him and the counter behind him.

Daryl thinks he wants to fuck everything out of Rick right now--his timid hesitation at the date, his worry about his new condition, his fucking  _sadness_ sitting in the truck and talking about how everyone called him a freak. His wife. Daryl wants it all gone. He wants Rick to know, to  _know,_  the kind of knowledge that seeps down past your bones and your synapses into that miraculous thing that makes you, you. He wants Rick to  _know,_  beyond a shadow of a fucking doubt, that Rick is his.

But Daryl has other plans for tonight. And he figures he’ll fuck Rick’s brains out on a bed this time, maybe tie his hands to the headboard. So he pushes Rick away gently and Rick detangles himself, his mouth red and his eyes wide and violet.

Daryl steps back and grabs a towel from the dispenser. He reaches up to pat his neck dry, but Rick knocks away his hand and licks it, a long stripe up his neck and Daryl groans with the feeling of it. He’s just about to push Rick away again when Rick takes his own step back. He licks his lips and then looks at himself in the mirror. He turns on the sink, splashes water onto his lips and rubs away the red that’s starting to stain there.

Daryl puts one hand on his back, needing to have that contact, and he thinks about Aunt Sally again because  _fuck,_  he is hard. Rick looks up at himself in the reflection and then he meets Daryl’s eyes in the mirror. “Didn’t used to think I’d have one of these,” he says and reaches out to touch the image of himself.

“Hmm,” Daryl says and rubs his back. “Don’t really need it. I’ll tell you how sexy you are if you need to know.”

Rick laughs and turns to him, sways in a way that’s all feline and flirty. “I like you,” he says. “I like you a lot. You...you get it, don’t you? Fuck, you get it better than I do.”

Daryl nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.” He reaches out and runs his fingers through Rick’s curls. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

Rick smiles wide and honest. “Yeah?” he says. He looks down bashfully. “No one...no one tells me things like that. All Lori ever said to me was that I was handsome and that was...well, it’s been too long.”

“Fuck your goddamn wife,” Daryl says, “if she’s not going to appreciate you.”

Rick bites his lip. “I’m sorry. For...for what I said this morning. About the gay thing. There’s just...so much changing in my life. You know?”

“I know, baby,” Daryl says. “I know.”

“But I...I texted you because...because I kind of felt, I don’t know, like I got it a little more when I was with you. Like I was starting to understand who I am. And I’ve been so  _lost._ ”

“It’s okay,” Daryl says and pulls Rick to him. Rick melts into him in a way that’s starting to feel  _familiar_ and Daryl can’t get enough of it. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?” He tells Rick. Rick nods against his shoulder and then they pull apart and leave the bathroom.

When they get back to their table, their food is ready. Daryl watches in fascination as the violet changes to a lighter purpley-blue and then to Rick’s light, crystal blue. Daryl starts eating and Rick pushes his food around to make it seem like he is. “So,” Daryl tells him. “Tell me about the change. Not, like, the way you found things out and all that. Tell me what’s different about you. You said like you felt like you were losing yourself. Why?”

Rick swallows and shoves around a glop of noodles on his plate. “Well, for one, my job changed. I’m still an officer, but I don’t go out on calls anyone. Strictly desk duty since my new condition. And I have all the doctor’s appointments, like I’ve said. But mostly, it’s the little things, you know? Like...I don’t go grocery shopping with Lori anymore. She has to go and talk to all of Carl’s teachers. I can’t even watch his softball games.” Rick frowns. “I never see Shane and he used to be my best friend. Although that’s half because he’s avoiding me because of Lori.” He thinks. “I just feel...like everything that made me me is impossible now. Like how I used to like fishing. And watching the wildflowers when they came in in the spring. And driving to nowhere just to listen to the music and feel the sun on my face. I keep thinking of things I can’t do. Like how I’m not going to be able to go a beach again. Or visit the Grand Canyon in the day. Or, hell, even mow the goddamn yard. You know?” He sighs and picks at a piece of chicken. “I don’t have any hobbies anymore. All I do is work and then I come home and Lori pushes me into bed and tells me I have to rest. I’ve spent so much time in bed these last six months, it makes me  _sick_. I’m tired of sleeping. I don’t think I really need much of it anyway. And I’m tired of laying there, watching _Dr. Phil_ or  _Maury._  I’m fucking tired of it. I feel like I have all of this energy and nowhere to go.” He shrugs. “I just...I can’t remember the last time I had  _fun,_  you know?”

Daryl listens to him, silently chewing and it’s a good thing that’s he’s pretty much done with his food when Rick is done with talking, because Daryl has a plan forming in his mind and he’s always thought that actions speak louder than words. Daryl offers to pay for the bill, but he knows it’s only a token effort. Rick refuses and pays with cash. And then they climb back into the car and Rick heads for Daryl’s house. Along the way, though, Daryl lifts his arm and points. “No, go that way,” he says. “Right, yeah, and then take the first left.”

“Where are we going?” Rick asks and Daryl shakes his head.

“You’ll see,” he says.

They drive down a long road that peters out into dirt eventually and when they pass a small pull off, Daryl tells him to stop. “What are we doing?” Rick asks.

Daryl shrugs. “You said you wanted to have some fun,” he says. “Let’s have some fun.”

“In the woods? In the middle of the night?”

Daryl smiles and he hopes that Rick can see the mischief in his eyes. “You go that way,” he points to the left. “And I go that way,” he points to the right. “We each take about thirty paces into the woods. And then we set on finding each other. First one to pin the other down gets to top. And then we’re going to fuck. In the motherfucking woods.”

Rick grins back, but he says, “How is that even fair? I can practically see in the dark.”

Daryl shrugs. “This is my territory. Come here all the time. You up for this?”

In response, Rick slinks out of the car and slams his door shut. Daryl grins to himself and slips out as well. He gives Rick one long wink and then he slides to the right, picking up the barely there trail that he usually takes down to the creek. He crashes through the foliage, letting Rick hear his loud footsteps and when he gets about ten yards into the forest, he softens his steps, letting his feet ghost over the pine needle strewn ground.

Daryl curves to the right, even farther away from the parked car. He figures that there’s no way he can sneak up on Rick with his night vision and his other most likely heightened senses. So his job is to make Rick work for him, give him a  _challenge_ trying to find Daryl. After all, this is to give Rick some fun. And how do you let a cat have fun? You give it a mouse to play with.

When Rick comes for him, though, Daryl’s not going to go down easy. He figures his best bet is to sense Rick there and grab him when he’s is in mid-strike, much like he did last night. So Daryl heads for the creek, because the only chance he’s going to have is if he keeps one side of himself open so that Rick can’t sneak up on him. Daryl reaches the creek and he puts himself in the heavy foliage just along the creek bank. He walks to his left, in Rick’s supposed direction. That way the creek is always to his right and he can see what’s coming, but his body is hidden in the the trees that like to hang over the water. He slides himself through the night air, warm and a little sticky and avoids brambles and twigs.

It takes Rick a good twenty minutes to make a move, but Daryl figures that Rick has actually  _found_ him way before that. Daryl’s first indication that Rick is there is the utter stillness of the place--like the crickets have decided to wait and see what Rick is going to do. And then he sees out of the corner of his eye a brief shadow that could be a bird or a rabbit, but is much more likely a vampire ready to jump him. Daryl tenses and focuses on making his body look relaxed like he’s not on edge and just waiting to see Rick’s figure, all shiny in the moonlight.

And then Rick pounces, his body melting from the heavy brush right at Daryl’s feet, his nails up and ready to grab Daryl just like the beautiful tiger Daryl knows he is. Daryl reacts on instinct, swings his body around and manages to avoid Rick’s strike, and then reaches forward to grab him. But before Daryl can make contact, Rick disappears back into the brush, crashing forward and away from Daryl. Daryl follows him quickly, but he loses sight of Rick within a couple of feet. He’s left a good trail to follow, though, and so Daryl tracks the broken vegetation and footprints left in a hurry.

And then the trail stops cold and Daryl marvels at the way Rick can slip through the brush more silent than any wolf, more deadly than any cat. He follows the trail forward and looks harder for little signs of travel.

Daryl realizes with a sudden quick clarity, a stomach dropping certainty of  _oh_ that he’s surrounded by thick trees and thicker brush and Rick has three hundred and sixty degrees of  _advantage._  That bitch led him there, he thinks.

Daryl turns his body quickly to rush back to the river, but Rick plows into his right side, heavy and fucking  _wrapping_ his body around Daryl to take him down. Daryl falls and they roll down the slight incline of the hill. They tumble together and Rick tries to pin him down, but Daryl keeps squirming and he looks up into Rick’s eyes--red and cunning. Daryl bucks Rick off of him and manages to pull his feet up under him. He springs up, turns to get at Rick, but Rick is  _gone_ again, that fucker.

Daryl waits with baited breath, because there was no crashing around this time, just the silence of  _attack_ and and the equal silence of back to  _stalking._  Daryl narrows his eyes and wills himself to pick up something in the moonlight flooded Georgia woods, some sign of Rick’s sleek muscles and his gorgeous rose eyes, his gracefulness and his elegance. But there’s nothing except the slight rustling of leaves as they snag in the wind and the far off cry of an owl.

Daryl spins slowly, examining the brush around him, his eyes at ground level since that’s where Rick has come at him twice already. And so Daryl really,  _really_ isn’t expecting it when Rick drops from the tree above him, right onto his head, sending them both crashing to the ground, Daryl on his stomach. Daryl gasps and tries to push Rick off, but Rick had a near perfect hit--his body falling on Daryl and knocking the breath out of him, his legs going quickly to straddle him, his nails digging into Daryl’s shoulders to keep him there. Rick squeezes his knees around either side of Daryl’s hips and he lashes out with his teeth, catching Daryl’s neck and biting down on it, strangling him.

Daryl is truly and utterly fucked, he thinks, because he can’t move. Rick has him, he  _has_  him, in every sense of the word. Daryl opens his mouth to say something, anything, the only thing that can come to him--his lips forming the rolling “R” the hard clicking “ck.” But no sound comes forth because Rick’s teeth are pressed to his neck, caught in him like Rick is iron and he’s carbon and somewhere in the space between their bodies is molten steel.

Daryl melts into the ground, into Rick’s covering and thorough embrace, knowing that Rick has won and also knowing that Daryl wants this, he  _wants this_ , with a fire he hasn’t wanted anything else with in his whole life. Rick is sleek and smooth and powerful. Timid and loving and needy. And Daryl gets him, he truly gets him, on some level that surpasses nerves and muscles, cells and molecules.

So Daryl arches into Rick, lets his body rolls with the words his mouth can’t form right now. Rick releases his neck and purrs into his ear, “I won?” Daryl nods thoroughly and then Rick is kissing his neck, licking at the spot he bit and then moving down, sliding his nails under Daryl’s shirt to hike it up and kiss his back. Rick leans his head down and runs his tongue along Daryl’s side and when he finds a point he likes, right between two ribs, he bites down. Daryl sucks in a breath and bucks up, calling out Rick’s name. Rick grunts against him in answer and sucks for a moment before he pulls away, licks the spot and rolls Daryl over, starts tugging at Daryl’s pants. “Sex,” he says, all red-eyed and fucking amazing, “in the woods, you said.” He gets Daryl’s pants off, tossing them aside, and they catch on the trunk of a tree.

Daryl grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says and arches his hips so that Rick will see just how hard he is. Rick grins and then tells Daryl to take off his shirt. Daryl leans up and does and then he’s naked with Rick still fully clothed.

Rick leans down and kisses his thigh and Daryl's breath catches at how close Rick’s mouth is to his cock. And then Rick looks him straight in the eye, smiles a toothy grin, and bites down. Daryl jerks and feels the puncture wounds in his thigh, feels Rick sucking at it and it’s fucking sexy to be able to  _watch_ him because Daryl can’t normally see him when he’s at his neck. But he can see him now, Rick’s eyes closed in pure ecstasy. Rick moans and Daryl moans at the sound of it.

And then Rick pulls away and licks his thigh, careful and loving. He smiles up at Daryl all wide and sincere and Daryl is floored that this predator--this slinking, exquisite,  _powerful_ creature--is letting his guard down with Daryl. And then Rick moves to settle himself more thoroughly between Daryl’s legs and he leans forward, expression mischief and unsettling, and he licks the head of Daryl’s cock. Daryl’s hips twitch upward and he moans and Rick smiles, all proud of himself.

He licks up the underside of Daryl’s cock and Daryl throws his head back, says “ _Jesus_ ” to the dark outline of the pine trees above them. Rick reaches up and rakes his nails along Daryl’s chest and Daryl returns his gaze to Rick. Rick gives him the smallest little wink and then he opens his mouth and takes Daryl in, painfully slow.

Daryl gasps as he feels Rick’s lips slide over his cock and then he feels Rick ever so carefully pulling his mouth down and he realizes why as his dick slides  _between_ Rick’s two fangs. He feels the sides of them, Rick’s teeth sliding against his skin, but Rick keeps the points away. Daryl grunts and stills. He keeps himself board straight as Rick moves ever so gently on him, sliding his mouth up and down in just the right way. Daryl bites his lip and marvels at the way he fits into Rick’s mouth, at the way Rick’s hands are curled into his skin like he wants to crawl up inside Daryl and  _be_  with him.

And then Rick is pulling off and sliding up Daryl’s body. He nips at Daryl’s stomach, at his sides. He kisses his collarbone and then he presses the tips of his teeth right against the bottom center of Daryl’s throat. He drags them down, leaving little tire tracks that run from Daryl’s throat all the way to the bottom of his ribcage. Daryl gasps at the stinging feeling and also at Rick’s eyes, all wanting and playful. Rick gets to the end of his chest and then he licks back up Daryl and  _fuck,_  Daryl needs this guy in him right now.

Daryl tangles his hand in Rick’s hair and gasps out, “ _Fuck me_ , you beautiful thing.” Rick licks his lips and he nods, pulls out a bottle from his pocket and tosses it to Daryl before he starts getting his clothes off. Daryl catches the bottle and smiles, thinking about how he’s got a similar one hidden in his pants that are currently hugging a tree trunk.

Daryl prepares himself and as he does, Rick throws his clothes off and when he’s done with that, he starts leaving little distracting kisses and nips all over Daryl’s body. But soon Daryl is ready for him and Rick is right there, all hot and heavy. Daryl lifts one leg to put it on Rick’s shoulder and nods at him. “Fuck me,” he encourages and then Rick is sliding in, gasping and Daryl watches the emotion cross his face--as open and wild as international waters.

Rick looks down at him with wide eyes and thrusts forward experimentally. It’s not like it was in the police station--hard and rough and  _claiming._  And it’s not like it was last night--Rick submissive and arching. This time it’s exploratory, the angles changing as Rick finds a good one. And despite the fact that it’s slower, that Rick’s thrust are less confident and less demanding, it’s somehow  _closer._  Like Rick is really there with him, really present.

Daryl touches Rick’s throat and whispers to him, his voice carrying soft in the forest wind, “Kiss me.” And so Rick does, leans down to him and finds his mouth like he’s knows exactly where it is--like Daryl is a road that he drives every night and he could take the curves and twists and straight, narrow stretches with his eyes closed. Rick kisses him with just his lips at first, just the tips of their mouths sliding together and then he slowly licks at Daryl’s mouth and Daryl lets him in and as Rick finds a good angle with his tongue, he finds a good angle with his cock, too, and it hits Daryl in all the right places and Daryl moans.

Rick blinks down at him, like he’s surprised and Daryl touches his chin. “I’m yours, baby,” he tells Rick and Rick smiles at him, all slow and brilliant. “But you have to come get me,” Daryl tells him and then he leans up, bites down on Rick’s ear. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he tells Rick, breathily. “Fuck me into Georgia, baby.”

And then Rick is. He speeds up with heavy and fast thrusts, going deep and Daryl arches and moans, clings to Rick’s biceps as Rick braces himself above Daryl. Rick pants and whimpers and Daryl closes his eyes, lays his head back against the pine needles and the dirt. But then he can’t stand it, so he opens them again, locks himself into that piercing red gaze. He squeezes his muscles around Rick and Rick bucks forward and then he whines and so Daryl brings Rick’s head to his neck and Rick bites down hard and lightning fast. His body collapses against Daryl and he writhes and moans, thrusts hard into him and Daryl whispers against Rick’s skin, “Come in me. Fucking make me believe I’m yours.” And then Rick is banging into him, shoving Daryl down into the dirt and up, into vines and brush and grass. Daryl reaches up above his head blindly and grasps at a tree trunk to brace himself and then he squeezes his muscles around Rick again and Rick has the piece of mind to reach between them and start stroking Daryl and it’s so  _good,_  so fitting, and so  _right_ to have Rick’s hand around him, his skin night cool and slick.

But then something better happens. Because with one final shove, with a hitch of a breath, and a tensing of his muscles, Rick is coming and Daryl feels him deep inside, feels Rick spending himself, letting go,  _being with him_ and Daryl gasps because it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much. And then he’s coming himself, arching into Rick and Rick pushes their bodies together like he can’t get enough and he clings to Daryl as Daryl rides it out and then Daryl is pulling Rick’s mouth away from his neck and kissing him and Rick is kissing back and they are mouth for mouth, tongue for tongue, body for body on the creek bank of a southern August night.

Daryl collapses, lets his body go limp after release and Rick follows him, only having enough energy to pull out and curl into Daryl. Daryl holds Rick there, threads his fingers through Rick’s hair and listens as Rick purrs deep in his chest. Daryl looks up at the sky, the stars twinkling so bright out here away from the city. The branches above them swirl in the wind, casting shadows here and there across the forest floor.

Rick nuzzles him and then he suddenly stops purring. Daryl tilts his head and says his name softly, but Rick shushes him. Daryl frowns, but he lets Rick lays there for a minute, a little tenser than he was a minute ago. Rick leans his head up away from Daryl and tilts his head in a familiar listening position. Daryl focuses on his own hearing, but all he can pick up are the buzzing and chirping of crickets and somewhere far off, the faint sounds of a Chuck-will’s-widow.

Rick closes his eyes and tilts his nose up into the breeze, letting it blow over him. “It sounds like Georgia,” Rick whispers.

Daryl reaches up and touches the side of his neck. “That’s because it  _is_ Georgia, baby,” Daryl tells him and then Rick lays back down, nuzzles up under his chin.

Only this time Rick’s clinging to him hard and he’s shaking, his body convulsing in little tremors and Daryl realizes belatedly that his predator, his lion, his little ferocious bobcat, is crying. He keeps repeating into Daryl’s neck, over and over, “It sounds like Georgia” and Daryl thinks of him laying in doctor’s offices, in the confines of some brick house, in places where the only sounds are talk shows and car horns and the slamming of doors. Human things. City things.

Daryl wraps his arms around Rick and he pulls him in. He lets Rick lean against him, lets him get it all out against Daryl’s chest in the moonlight, right there beside the creek bank. And when Rick finally stills, finally lets go of the tension bunched up in his shoulders like angry little wounds, they still lay there, letting the wind and the sticky Georgia summer wash over them. 

***

Rick tries to insist that he drop Daryl off at home so that Daryl can get some sleep for his daytime shift, but Daryl counters with Rick coming back with him and staying the entire night. In the end, they settle on a compromise and start walking the bank of the creek, just exploring the woods around them and talking.

It’s Daryl who strikes up conversation, low and whispery so that Rick can still hear the rustle of the leaves and the sounds of an owl as it calls closeby. “You were a tree climber when you were young, huh?” he asks.

Rick looks over and blinks at him, his eyes light and cleared of their hungry red. “Yeah,” he says. “Used to have a treehouse and spent time climbing all these old oaks behind the house, you know?” He shakes his head. “I was kind of a scrawny kid, but that meant I was always first up and I could get on the limbs that the other kids couldn’t. Pissed Shane off.”

Daryl smiles. “That fucking tree, man. I didn’t see you coming down on me from the  _air_.”

Rick grins. “I didn’t think you would. It’s why I did it.” He looks at Daryl from under his lashes and Daryl wants to reach over and runs his hand through Rick’s hair. He lifts his hand to do so, but Rick looks at it a little panicked and so Daryl puts it down. Daryl keeps walking and looks off into the woods. “It’s okay, you know. The gay thing. It’ll be okay.”

Daryl can hear Rick beside him, walking steady, but breathing a little unevenly. “I...I’ve just never really dated anyone but Lori, you know? I mean, not seriously. I’ve had a lot of flings and things back in high school. But nothing long term and nothing that mattered. And I’ve never even looked twice at a guy before. I just don’t know if it’s the vampire in me or if it’s just me or what.”

“Probably a little of both,” Daryl says, shrugging. “It letting something out of you that lay dormant that you didn’t know was there.”

Rick stops walking then and grabs Daryl’s arm, right below the elbow. He tugs at Daryl and Daryl turns to look at him. His silhouette is fascinating in the moonlight--thin and agile, relaxed in a familiar environment but still a little nervous. “I just…” He blinks and shifts on the balls of his feet. “I want you to know that what you did for me tonight was…” He swallows.

Daryl reaches out, slower this time. He watches as Rick’s eyes follow his hand and then his fingers are on Rick’s neck. Daryl leans into him, putting his mouth inches from Rick’s. “I know,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything. I know.”

“How do you know?” Rick asks Daryl, eyes wide and searching. He laughs low. “Are you, like, magic or something?”

Daryl smiles. “No, not quite. Still fucking amazing, though, baby.” Daryl winks at him and Rick smiles, open and honest. He leans up to Daryl and then pulls back just an inch, hesitating. Daryl looks him in the eye and waits to let Rick dictate if he’ll move away or if he’ll come closer.

And then Rick has made his decision and he’s pulling his body into Daryl’s as easy as gravity and he’s kissing him, his lips pressed to Daryl’s firmly. Rick slowly starts to move them and Daryl meets him as their mouths slide together. He lets Rick be the one to put his hands on Daryl’s waist, drive the kiss and the depth of it--so soft and almost fleeting that Daryl’s skin shivers with it. And then Rick’s hands are on his neck, in his hair, and Rick’s tongue slips into his mouth as if it belongs there, as if it’s home. Daryl furrows his brow and kisses Rick and it turns hard, passionate, needy. Rick lets a little, tiny whimper go and Daryl pulls back just so that he can smile. Rick smiles back at him and then he puts his nose right up against Daryl’s chin, nuzzles it and starts purring softly in tune with the crickets.

“I love how you sound,” Daryl tells him in a whisper. Rick glances up at him and starts purring louder and Daryl pulls Rick’s body to him. “See how good it feels?” Daryl tells him. “Us? Doesn’t matter what we are. Fuck gender and conditions and all that other bullshit. If it feels good, do it. If it makes you happy, keep it.”

Rick sighs against Daryl and curls into him. “You make me feel like I could be normal again,” Rick says slowly. “Isn’t that weird? I drove out into the woods with you so that I could  _play hunt_  you and then bite the fuck out of you and that made me feel  _normal._ ”

“Normal’s relative, baby,” Daryl tells him. “It’s just what you make of it.”

“I think…” Rick clears his throat. “I think part of me likes you a lot. I’m just...the other part of me is really confused. Does that make me crazy?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Just makes you complicated,” he says.

“I understand if you don’t want to get involved in complicated,” Rick tells him and starts to pull away. Daryl stops his backwards motion with a strong hand on his back.

“No,” Daryl tells him. “Who the fuck wants some dumb simple bimbo? I like complex. It’s a challenge and I don’t back down from challenges.”

Rick nods, slowly. “Tell me about...tell me about being gay. I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never thought about it and I’ve never even considered that I would be here. So...so tell me.”

Daryl blinks. “That’s a big question,” he says. He turns and starts slowly walking up the creek bank. Rick follows him and Daryl reaches out, slow again so as not to spook him, and takes Rick’s hand, holding it in his. “It’s like being straight,” Daryl says. “It’s different for everyone. Tell you what it’s like for me, though.” He pauses and looks at the water, reflecting the clear night sky. “I’ve kind of always known that I was gay. When I was little--really little--I used to imagine my perfect person. You know, thinking house in my head. It used to be a girl, back when I was  _eight._  I thought about what it would be like when I was older and I had a family. I thought about how I’d treat  _my_ sons. And then, as I got older, I guess I figured out I was thinking more about me and about future kids than I was thinking about any vague and fuzzy-looking wife. And then...I don’t know. I got even older and I realized that...it’s so funny. You know? How you realize these things. I couldn’t ever keep girls straight. Who the fuck was Betty and how did she look any different from Marilyn? They had the same damn haircut. Same damn color, too. But boys. Hell. I could draw you fucking police sketches of every boy I knew. And there were things I liked about them, too. Got kind of fascinated with cheekbones and biceps. Then…” Daryl shakes his head and scoffs. He looks over at Rick, gives him an up-and-down. “You take this to your grave, you hear me?”

Rick smiles slightly and he nods, waits for Daryl to continue.

“There was this boy. Mark. His dad ran this shop where my dad would buy all his bait and shit. We, uh, we kissed. Out back one day. Fucking tasted like fish, man. Disgusting.” Daryl laughs to himself. “But god, I kind of liked Mark. In that fourteen-year-old way. And that was that, I guess. Grew up. Fucked around with some guys. Met a couple of ‘em I dated. Three, really. There was Andy in high school, but he was repressed. Kind of guy that would fuck you and then beat up on some girly-ass nerd the next day for being a fag. After that was Robert. Really  _nice,_  you know? Felt like a  _dick_ for dumping him, but we just didn’t have anything in common. Heard he got together with some activist lawyer guy, though, and they have the gay version of a white-picket fence.” Daryl laughs. “A Volkswagen and a pomeranian. And then...Jeff. The fucker. Stupid asswipe. I mean, a real  _douche,_  but the kind that you think at first is charming. The kind that gets under your skin and just sorta makes you hate yourself.” He shakes his head. “And that was three years ago. Nothing since till you.”

Rick blinks. “Wait,” he says and stops walking, pulls Daryl to a stop by tugging at their joined hands. “Are you serious?”

Daryl nods and frowns. “Yeah, why?”

Rick shakes his head and looks up and down Daryl’s body. “I don’t know. You just...kind of seemed like a  _player._  I mean, you’re so fucking hot, I just thought you’d be…”

Daryl smiles. “Well, I’m not. Guess I was waiting for someone.” He gives Rick hooded eyes and then licks his lips. “Can I kiss you for that? I kind of like to kiss guys that tell me I’m drop dead gorgeous.”

Rick grins and gets that flirty smile on his face that Daryl loves. “I didn’t tell you you were  _gorgeous._ ”

Daryl chuckles. “Not with your lips,” he says and then leans forward into Rick. He captures Rick’s mouth easily and Rick lets him. They tilt their heads to the right angle and Daryl’s hand ends up under Rick’s shirt, Rick’s in Daryl’s hair. They melt into each other for a minute, just mouths and skin and  _contact_ under the stars by the water. Then Rick pulls away and asks him to keep talking.

Daryl smiles at him and starts walking again. “Well, that’s it for dating history. As far as other stuff goes...yeah, it’s a bitch being out in the South. I mean, really. Little bitty things everywhere you go. When I just got out of high school, I had this job as a welder, but I got fired for it. Well, they said they ‘let me go’ because of my low level of experience. That was bullshit. The owner learned I liked dick and it freaked him out, so he got rid of me. And there’s the big ticket items, like gay marriage and things.” Daryl shrugs. “Not that I really care that much about marriage. Figure if you love someone, it doesn’t really matter. Just live with them, have your own damn ceremony if you want, and kiss ‘em at night. That should be all you need to be happy. But I guess it would be nice to have the option.” He pauses and thinks. “Don’t go to rallies. Hate them. Don’t have a rainbow sticker or a rainbow flag. Don’t go around flipping my wrists and looking for girls to tell that their hair looks  _fine_ or their purse is so cute it’s  _sick._ ”

Daryl kicks at a rock as he walks. “All in all, I guess I’m just a down-to-earth kind of guy. All I want is someone who I love and who loves me. You know? I just want simple things. Good house. Good job. Some relationship that’s...equal, I guess. Give and take. You win some, you lose some. Does that make sense?”

Rick nods slowly. Daryl looks over at him, at how intensely Rick is watching the words pouring out of his mouth. “Hey,” he says, “what I’m saying is...I’m not going to complicate anything with any bullshit, alright? I like you. I like being with you and watching the way you move. I like listening to you. God, I love holding you.” He squeezes Rick’s hand. “And I’m as fluid as water, baby. You need to go slow, we’ll crawl. You want to crash into this at a hundred miles an hour, I’m ready. You just let me know.”

“I feel so bad,” Rick says after a beat. “I mean...Lori.”

“Could tell her,” Daryl says. “If you think she needs to know.”

Rick laughs unhappily. “It’s funny. About Lori. I don’t feel guilty about you. I don’t. She deserves it for Shane and...well, in the end, it would probably have never worked out. But when I go home now...when I go to the doctor and she checks me in and she smiles at me for the nurse’s sake and she kisses my forehead because she thinks she’s supposed to...I feel like I’m cheating on you.” He blinks and lets go of Daryl’s hand, wraps his arms around his chest like he’s cold and stares at the creekbed, his steps frozen. “I’ve known you for...what? This is the third night. Seventy two hours, that’s how long it’s been. But I…” He looks everywhere but at Daryl--at the brush, at the stones in the creek, at the pebbles by his shoes. “I feel like...like walking away from you is driving away from home. Like there’s this pit in my stomach when you’re not there. And my blood is on fire, it’s on  _fire_ when I’m away from you and it was never like that with Lori. Not even in the beginning. And so I wonder if it’s the vampire. And what does that mean if it is? And what does that mean if it’s not? If it’s  _not_ the vampire and what I thought I had all these years was a lie and how could I have lived like that? How could I have thought she loved me--” He breaks off quickly and turns around, walks several paces from Daryl and won’t look at him.

“Do I…,” Daryl starts, but he doesn’t know how to say what he needs to. He clears his throat. “Do I need to back away from all this? Is that easier?”

Rick turns to him, something like panic in his eyes. “No,” he says so quickly and quietly Daryl has to strain to hear it and then louder, “No. No, I couldn’t make it without you.”

Daryl nods slowly and walks toward him even slower. “You and the vampire,” he says, “you’re almost like different people. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what we are,” Rick says. “I don’t know what I am.” Rick bites his lip and then looks off at a pine tree nearby, glares at it and says with determination. “It thinks it loves you.”

Daryl blinks. “What?” he asks.

“It thinks it loves you,” Rick says. He turns his head toward Daryl, but looks at the ground. “It’s... _simple_ . The fucker is too simple. It just thinks in these basic terms. Hungry. Need to eat. Prey. Need to catch. And when it’s with you, it feels good. So good. And so it wants to stay with you forever. Like you’re its fucking mate for life or something. And I keep trying to tell it  _no._  I keep trying to tell it to  _slow the fuck down_ , because I need to process this. But it doesn’t want to process. It just wants to kiss you.” He looks up at Daryl, his eyes crystal blue. “And so  _I_ want to kiss you.”

Daryl swallows down the bile in his stomach and spits out what he has to ask. “So that means you  _don’t_ want to kiss me?”

“No,” Rick says. “No. I just...what is it? What am I? What’s the fucking difference between us or is there any? I don’t know any of that. I’m so  _confused._ ”

Daryl reaches for him, grabs Rick’s hands and cups them in his own. “I know,” he says. “I know. Just...tell me what I can do to help you figure it out.”

Rick blinks up at him. “Drive me to a psych ward?” he says and lets a hollow laugh go.

“No,” Daryl says and kisses Rick’s knuckles. “No psych wards. No doctors. Just...you tell me what you need.”

“I guess...just time,” Rick says. “Just understanding. You to know why I’m so  _crazy._  Why sometimes I’m all up on you and others I just flinch away.”

Daryl nods. “Okay. I get it. I’ve understood that there are differences for awhile now. But you gotta tell me something, Rick. Right now. I have to know. I have to ask this from  _you._  And I need a clear yes or no. Okay?” Rick nods and waits, so Daryl continues. “When you’re hungry...when you have the red-eyes. The vampire. Do you still want us to have sex? If you say no right now, I swear to God I won’t touch you. I don’t want this to be--”

“It’s not,” Rick cuts in. “It’s not. When I want it, I want it and afterwards it’s okay. It really is. I still want it when I think back on it. It’s just...the processing of it. You know?”

Daryl nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I get it.”

“You should walk away from me,” Rick whispers. “I’m too fucked up for anyone to have to put up with--”

“Shut up,” Daryl says. “Don’t.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second to center himself. He thinks about the vampire, the way it purrs and the way it clings to him. He thinks of the word  _love_ and what that means, emotions tangled up, as hot and complex as the binding of molecules. But as simple, too. Hydrogen and oxygen. Water.

“Can I tell you what I think?” Daryl says to Rick and Rick nods. “It’s not simple. Not like you think it is.  _He_ is. He’s just as much of a thinker as you are. It’s just...different. He’s just different. I think he is you, it’s just a new way of being. You don’t move like him. That’s true. And you might not think in the terms that he thinks in. But,” Daryl walks forward and puts his hands on the side of Rick’s neck, “he purrs when I touch him.” Daryl runs a hand down Rick’s skin, leaving little goosebumps behind. He reaches up and he scratches behind Rick’s ears, just like he did earlier that night in the car. Rick closes his eyes and purrs and Daryl thinks  _yes._  “But so do you,” Daryl tells him. Rick snaps his gaze open. “He kisses me like he wants me.” Daryl leans forward and sets his lips against Rick’s mouth, who sighs into it. “And so do you,” he says against Rick’s lips and then pulls back. “And  _I._..I want both of you. I like both of you. But maybe,” he licks his lips, “maybe there’s not  _both_ of you. Maybe it’s just you. And maybe that makes it harder, I don’t know. Maybe he’s just you without the social pressure, but you still have to wake up in the morning and  _deal_ with it and fuck, maybe that’s the tough part. Truth is, I don’t know what’s going on, either. But maybe I’m more like the vampire than I should be. Cause all I can think about is very simple, Rick. It’s me,” he shrugs, “liking to have you around.”

“I hate you,” Rick says, but he laughs and this time, it reaches his eyes. “You make so much sense and then I just feel  _dumb._ ”

Daryl smiles. “You seem pretty whip-smart to me.”

Even in the moonlight, Daryl sees Rick blush and when he speaks, Daryl can’t help but smile at the way his voice cracks. “Can we just...forget about how I just told you I loved you?”

Daryl laughs and leans their foreheads together. “Forgotten,” Daryl says. He runs his fingers through Rick’s hair. “Because I want to hear you say it with conviction. Like you think both of you feel it. If you ever do.” Rick smiles slowly. “And besides,” Daryl continues, “it’s, like, fucking three a.m. and who thinks straight at three in the morning?”

Rick blinks. “Holy shit,” he says, “you need to get back. _I_ need to get back. We should go.”

Daryl frowns. “I wish we didn’t have to. Kind of want to just stay in the woods with you forever.”

“Well,” Rick says and looks at him from underneath his eyelashes, all hooded and bashful. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. You can count on it.”

***

When Rick drops Daryl off at his house, Daryl does his own processing. He crawls in bed and sets his alarm for the morning--later that same morning, because it’s  _way_ past midnight. And then...he thinks.

He thinks about Rick, the vampire and the blue-eyed man. He thinks about the small things, like how they kissed when Rick was deep within him, familiar and present, moving like one person, like the electricity stored in their nerves was sending the same signals to both of their brains at the same exact time and so they could slide together, bent together, dip and jump, come and go, be at the exact same moment. He thinks about Rick’s beautiful eyes with their rainbows of color. He thinks the word  _love_ and it catches in his brain like his hand in curls.

He closes his eyes and lets out his breath, up to his bedroom ceiling.  _Love._  Little goosebumps break out on his arms and his heart starts beating at a million miles an hour. Daryl has never been in  _love_ before. Not with Andy or Robert. Certainly not with Jeff, even though he thought he was for a little bit. Nothing in his life has ever been like this--as crystal clear as Rick’s eyes, as simple as the vampire. Want him. Have him.

Daryl would never tell Rick this because he doesn’t want to set him on edge even more than he already is, but Daryl is a little freaked out, too. No matter how many times they talk about going slow, no matter how many times Daryl thinks he should back off or stop or ground to a crawl, no matter all their talk of it’s not been long enough and we don’t know each other that well, it’s not stopping this thing. Whatever it is, it’s barreling forward at the speed of sound. It’s a rocket blasting off and cutting through the air, dissecting their lives like a shuttle through clouds, leaving behind the fire and ash of what they thought they used to be, what their life was like before. But, Daryl thinks, rockets go forth to find something better. They are discovery, progression. The act of moving on, standing somewhere new and exciting. Daryl thinks that looking at the earth from the moon must be a lot like looking into Rick’s violet eyes--mixed up with the vampire and the man and so startlingly beautiful it takes your breath away and you think _no one else gets to see this_. No one but me, because I booked a ride on this flight and now here I am, for better or worse. But there’s no worse. How could there be anything bad in watching Rick slide through the air like mist? How could there be anything awful in holding him, listening to him, kissing him, loving him--

_Fuck,_  Daryl thinks. It’s four in the morning and what the hell is he thinking? Rockets and Rick’s eyes like the earth. Shit. He rolls over and presses his face to the pillow. It’s too soon for all of this. Rick is right. They’ve only known each other for seventy two hours--seventy  _four,_  his brain supplies--and how much time is that to build a relationship off of? They should slow down. They should. They should spend a day or so apart and then call each other up and go on dates to the movies, to concerts, to the roller rink for Christ’s sake. They should do this like any normal couple. Take their  _time._

But goddammit, Daryl thinks, if he doesn’t want Rick right here beside him, the soft sounds of his purring lulling Daryl to sleep while Rick clings to his skin, breathing in the exact same rhythm that Daryl is breathing.

***

Daryl wakes up at nine and groans to himself, but drags his tired body out of bed. He takes a quick shower and then calls a cab company while he’s scarfing down his breakfast. His truck is ready at the shop and he’ll be damned if he keeps driving around Merle’s cracked-out clunker. Even if he does have the memory of leaning over in the seat to shield Rick’s eyes.

The cab guy drives ridiculously slow to the shop, which means that Daryl is late when he gets there. Luckily, he gets through paying the bill and talking his bank account down from an aneurysm fairly quickly. He pulls into work only two minutes late and Clint isn’t there to say anything about it. Daryl sighs heavily because it’s his day on counter duty and he  _hates_ counter duty. He’d much rather be outside with his screwdriver and the stickiness of the August air.

But the good thing about having the day inside is that he’s alone for most of it. The other guys go in and out on jobs while Daryl answers calls, tells Mr. Peterson that he’ll have Paul out as quick as he can tomorrow and no, there’s not a sooner time. Daryl sits at the desk and files the stack of papers that have been left for him because Tony and Ethan hate paperwork. Daryl sings the alphabet to himself in his head, reminds himself for the millionth billionth time in his life whether p or q come first and pointedly does not think about how Rick’s blush looked in the moonlight, how the word “love” sounded on his lips.

P comes first, he decides, and files “Hannah Quinn” after “Nathan Peterson.” He gets through two stacks of filing and three hours of calls before he hears the familiar ringtone vibrating out from his pocket. He pulls his cellphone out and looks at the number. Rick.

No one else is around and whatever, Daryl thinks. If the office phone rings, he’ll just tell Rick to wait (no you won’t, his brain supplies, stop lying to yourself). “Hey, Rick,” he answers.

“ _Daryl,_ ” Rick says and his voice is high and panicked.

“Hey,” Daryl says and sits up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I…” There are noises in the background and then some crashing sounds. “No,” Rick says to someone else, “just a minute. I just need a minute.” Daryl hears a door slam shut and then Rick is rushing through his sentences. “I’m at the doctor and they put me on this stuff and I don’t know what it is but it’s wrecking me and I’m scared. I’m scared and I’m getting hungry and I can’t do this in the hospital because they’ll put me right back in the psych ward and I can feel it. Daryl, it’s coming and I don’t know what to do and I didn’t know anyone else to call and I’m so  _afraid._ ”

“It’s okay,” Daryl tells him in his most soothing voice. “It’s okay, Rick. Just calm down and breathe for me, alright? How long do you have before you go all fanged out?”

“I don’t know,” Rick tells him and then in a more panicked voice. “ _I don’t know_. Half...half an hour? Maybe?”

“What hospital?” Daryl asks him. Rick tells him the name and the room and Daryl hangs up. His fingers are already flying fast over Tony’s number and when Tony picks up, mumbling that he’s in a  _Black Sails_  marathon and what does Daryl want, Daryl barrels forward with family emergency and blah, blah, blah and he’ll pick up Tony’s shift tomorrow if he wants him to and he’ll even buy him a case of that expensive beer he likes if he just gets his ass here in the next five minutes.

Tony begrudgingly agrees and even though he gets to the office in six minutes, it’s still too long for Daryl. Daryl flies out of the building and into his truck, pulling out and barreling down the highway for Jonesburg General. He makes it to the hospital in fifteen and practically runs to room 227. The nurse at the desk asks him who he is and Daryl snaps off that he’s Rick’s step-brother, not wanting to deal with the “you’re not family” bullshit. Luckily the nurse accepts it easily and lets him in.

Daryl flies into the room at a hundred miles an hour and finds it empty. The sheets are ruffled and the thin curtains are closed,  _Maury_ blaring in the background. “Rick?” Daryl asks into the emptiness and there’s scraping from the private bathroom, the sounds of someone standing up from tile. The door opens with a click as Rick’s nails scrape against it and Rick pops his head out. His eyes are red and starting to bleed out from the pupils. He opens his mouth and his teeth are out, long and hungry. His eyes narrow at Daryl in the fashion of a leopard spotting a meal and Daryl rushes forward toward him, pushes him into the bathroom and follows him, shutting the door behind them.

Daryl has barely gotten the door closed, his head turned to check the lock, when Rick latches on, his teeth piercing Daryl’s neck hard and mercilessly. Daryl jerks and wonders for a minute if this was a smart idea, just giving himself to full-out vampired Rick, but Rick has his teeth in him now and it’s crushing and painful, not at all like it usually is. Daryl wonders how much skill Rick puts into biting him and he thinks about how soft Rick can be with his teeth, like Daryl almost doesn’t feel them when they go in. He wonders how much effort that takes.

But right now, Rick isn’t being soft. He’s being ruthless, tearing at Daryl’s flesh like it’s his to consume and Daryl tries to push him away slightly, tries to get some distance so that Rick can take a mental step back and prepare himself, but that’s the wrong move. When Daryl pushes at Rick, Rick crushes his neck between his teeth harder and Daryl can’t breathe. Rick shoots out a hand and grabs Daryl’s arm--the one he tried to push him with--and digs his nails in, slamming his whole arm into the bathroom door. Daryl feels the nails cut in like needles and he can’t catch his breath. He starts to panic.

Daryl shoves his body up into Rick’s to try and buck Rick off, but Rick slams him back into the bathroom door and it’s not like that second night, Daryl bent over a interrogation table. This has nothing to do with want or passion. This is pure aggression, pure unbridled predatory instinct.

Rick could kill him, he thinks, the thought shooting through his body like electrocution. He can’t breathe and he has a brief flash of all those criminals locked up in the cells that Rick took, all the innocent ones on the street he didn’t. Even Rick’s own wife. He could kill them. He would have, Daryl thinks, if Rick was like this and got ahold of someone who wasn’t strong. But Daryl  _is_ strong. He’s a fighter. A wolf.

So Daryl kicks out and catches Rick’s kneecap, snapping his leg back. Rick breaks away to hiss and that’s just what Daryl needs. Before Rick can come down on his neck again, lightning fast, Daryl headbutts him and puts all his muscle to shoving Rick backwards. Rick stumbles back across the toilet and hits the far wall. He manages to stay on his feet, though, but the shove turned his whole body away from Daryl. He puts one hand on the wall, his nails scraping down it like he wants it to be flesh. Daryl watches and waits with baited breath. Rick hunches over and he starts coughing and then he turns to Daryl ever so slowly and his eyes are still red, but only the irises this time. He opens his mouth, but just the “s” sound comes out and Daryl doesn’t know if it’s a hiss or the beginning of “sorry,” but it doesn’t really matter.

“ _Fuck,_  boy,” Daryl says and puts his hand to his neck, where it’s leaking blood. “ _Fuck._ ” He grabs a paper towel from the sink and presses it to his neck, ignoring the red lines coming from his arm as well.

Rick sinks down the wall and collapses in the corner, his nails still up and stuck in plaster. He opens his mouth again, but just squeaks. Daryl looks down at him, his body hunched into itself, and thinks of Rick waking up with a dead body. Thinks of him in that interrogation room, pulling off and seeing open, still eyes and cooling skin. His jaw sets and rage boils up in him like rising flood water. He wants to stab every doctor in here, wants to strangle Lori himself and crossbow that bitch of a partner he’s got for no good reason other than to do it. He hates this. He  _hates_ it. Rick all alone in the world and suffering, hiding the pressure of a killer under his skin and not being able to fix it, to control it. To have someone  _help him._

He’ll never leave Rick again. He swears it.

Daryl leans down slowly and kneels next to Rick. Rick bows his head and refuses to lift it until Daryl reaches out, ever so carefully, and puts his fingers under Rick’s chin, tilting his face up. There’s blood all over Rick’s mouth and tears at the corner of his eyes and he looks  _broken._  Daryl grinds his teeth and then gets up, wets a paper towel, and kneels down again. He starts cleaning Rick up, wiping away the salt and the sweat and the red stains from his face. Rick lets him, but never meets his eyes, staring at the wall instead.

Rick lifts his hand slowly and puts it on Daryl’s arm. He tugs just the smallest amount and Daryl lets Rick guide his arm to Rick’s mouth, lets him lick at the wound he made there with his nails so feather light and quick. And then Rick lifts his head, looks at the blood of Daryl’s neck, and asks, so softly, “Just let me heal it. Then you can go.”

Daryl nods slowly and Rick pulls his body to Daryl’s, but this time it’s not sweet or romantic. And it’s not hard and passionate, either. And certainly not dangerous. Rick curves his whole body away from him, doesn’t touch him except to hold his neck in place lightly as he clears the wound of its blood. When it’s over, he snaps away from Daryl like Daryl’s skin burns him and he curls back up into the corner. He wraps his arms around his stomach and pulls his legs to his chest. closing his eyes and turning his head into the corner of the wall. “Just let them take me away,” he whispers.

“Rick,” Daryl says and reaches for him, but Rick flinches his body back into the wall and looks at Daryl’s hand with wide, panicked eyes. “No,” he says, “ _No._ Just go away. Just leave me. The things I could have done to you...the things I wanted…” His voice breaks and he presses himself hard into the plaster, like he wants to melt into it.

Daryl sighs and nods. “I’ll leave you alone for now,” he says and stands, but he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he turns to the sink again and washes his arm and his neck, gets everything that he can off of his skin so they can forget about this. He takes off his work shirt, glad that there’s a plain black T-shirt underneath it and chucks the stained gray overshirt onto the back of the toilet. He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror, his frown heavy. He washes his hands once more for good measure and splashes water on his face to calm himself down. “Okay,” he says to himself and turns to Rick. He’s still curled in the corner, but his clothes don’t look that worse for wear. He’s still wearing civilian attire and not any paper hospital gown, which Daryl is glad of. Means if he has to, he can just take Rick out of here.

Daryl leans down and reaches for Rick, touches his shoulder slowly even though Rick flinches at his touch. “Come on,” Daryl says. “Let’s get you up.”

Rick shakes his head venomously. “ _No,_ ” he says.

  
Daryl sighs. “Rick--” he tries, but Rick cuts him off with another forceful no. Daryl swallows. “Rick,” he says again and when Rick doesn’t interrupt him, he continues, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Rick whispers. “It was my teeth.”

“You didn’t mean to, though,” Daryl says. “I know you didn’t mean it. They gave you something new, you said?”

Rick nods slowly. “Some...some medicine. Supposed to help.”

“See?” Daryl says, soothingly. “It just threw you out of whack. You would never have done that otherwise. Never let yourself get there. _I_ will never let you get there.” Rick finally looks at him, his red-ringed eyes finally meeting Daryl’s. Daryl reaches out and runs his fingers through Rick’s hair. “This isn’t going to happen again,” Daryl says. “It’s not. And even if it does, I got it. I can help you control it.”

Rick swallows and nods. “You...do you think I’m worth saving?” He looks up at Daryl and begins to blink rapidly, trying to hold back the water that Daryl sees hanging in his eyes.

Daryl shushes him and pulls Rick to him and Rick collapses against his chest, boneless and weak. “You’re worth all of it,” Daryl tells him, “but you don’t need to be saved. People need to stop trying to fix this because you’re perfect just as you are.”

Rick nods slowly against his chest and Daryl holds him, threads his fingers through curls, and whispers to Rick over and over that it’s okay. That’s he’s worth it. That this will just be a distant memory soon. Eventually, Rick stills against him, closes his eyes, and presses his body up to Daryl’s like Daryl is used to, all sleek and needy. Daryl keeps running his hands over Rick and imagines himself brushing away all the hurt and confusion, dusting it off of Rick with his touch and leaving Rick new again, healthy, and happy. He knows that whatever this is will be a long road and there will be ups and downs--times spend on a creekbank in the moonlight. Times in which Rick has to lick away the stabbing pain and the bruises. But he’s in it. He’s not backing away. Rick needs him and he’s going to be damned if he’s going to leave him here alone. Because sitting here like this, holding him and making sure he’s okay...Daryl needs him, too.

***

Daryl lets Rick sit against his chest and just get his bearings for a good ten minutes before he slowly pushes Rick into a sitting position so he can look at him. Daryl clears his throat and then he offers his arm. Rick looks at it wide-eyed and shakes his head, repeats “no” over and over again and shoves Daryl’s arm down.

Daryl shakes his own head. “Rick,” he says, “you have to.”

“No,” Rick says again. “I can’t. I can’t be  _trusted._ ”

“Look,” Daryl says and grabs his chin, forces Rick to meet his eyes. “If you don’t eat, then you’ll starve again and we’ve seen what happens when you starve. And who knows what this medicine will keep doing to you and how long it will be before you’re hungry again. So you are going to  _eat_ right now.” He holds up his wrist again. “I’m not leaving until your eyes are as blue as the sky outside. You got me?”

Rick looks at his wrist a little longingly and nods slowly. Daryl lifts his arm and Rick takes it between both hands, holding it reverently. Daryl watches as he bites down with just the smallest amount of pressure that he needs to break the skin. He swallows once and then he closes his eyes and drinks and Daryl sits back against the sink counter and lets him. He watches Rick as Rick takes from his wrist, pulls Daryl’s blood into himself and Daryl wonders if somehow this close contact--the very fabric of himself pouring into Rick’s own body--has anything to do with the strong and firm connection they feel to each other. Maybe in some way it lets him know Rick even better. But then he thinks of that first night, how he knew so well what Rick was even before he had words to put to it, even before things like teeth and blood. No, Daryl thinks. He knew Rick from the second he saw him, like he was just  _waiting_ for him to walk into his life.

Rick pulls off slowly and licks the wound he’s created. He blinks up at Daryl and Daryl sees his eyes violet and he nods. Daryl sighs at the bruise that’s starting to form lightly on Rick’s temple and wonders if he has a matching one on his own forehead. He leans forward slowly and kisses the spot gingerly in an apology. Rick sighs and fists one hand in Daryl’s shirt. “Thank you,” he says, “for doing that.”

“Doing what?” Daryl asks.

Rick shrugs and looks down. “Protecting yourself. If I ever get that way, I want to know...I want to know that you won’t care about hurting me. If I have to be hurt.”

“You don’t gotta worry about that,” Daryl tells him and kisses his forehead again. “I’ll do what has to be done. Starting with making sure that you never get that way.”

“I feel like a fucking special needs dog,” Rick says and frowns. “Some goddamn animal that people have to watch and take care of and people say sure, they will, but deep down they just want to put me to sleep.”

Daryl shoves at him and then grabs Rick’s hair, tugs it up so Rick is looking at him. “The fuck are you saying?” he asks and looks Rick in the eye. “For real. What the hell?”

“You don’t think that’s what I am?” Rick says. “That it would be better if--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Daryl tells him, “and don’t ever let me hear you say that again.” Rick tries to look down, but Daryl grabs him and shakes him. “Look at me,” he says and Rick does. “Rick…” he starts, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. What to say and not say. So instead of anything elegant, instead of carefully crafted words of comfort and  _this too will pass_ , Daryl just tells him the truth. “You scare the  _shit_ out of me sometimes. Like when you came in my house. Just now with your teeth in me. You’re dangerous and you’re wild. I totally get that. You’re not some damn house cat and you could hurt a person. But you know what? I don’t care about any of that. That’s small stuff. I can handle myself and if we get you lined out like you’re supposed to be if your damn wife and your doctors would leave you alone then you’ll be perfectly fine. But accepting that is like…” Daryl shrugs and looks up at the ceiling. “Like accepting that your partner hates your favorite food. Like accepting that they picket Walmart on account of how it treats its employees. Like accepting that they want to buy a fucking minivan. It’s an  _inconvenience_ not a dealbreaker.”

“How can that not be a dealbreaker?” Rick asks him. “It’s life and d-death.”

“Because,” Daryl says and smiles softly, “I love you.” He takes a deep breath. “Eighty eight hours. So it’s not just you that falls fast. I think about you all the time.” He shrugs. “I’ve never felt this way before. Like…” He holds out his hands in front of him, between his body and Rick’s. “Like I move and you move. Like you move and little strings tell me where to go. Like I  _feel_ you. All the time. Taking care of you? God, that could never be something I hated. Or resented. Or whatever you think it is. It’s...don’t you dare make fun of me for this. But it’s like an honor. I get to be with you.” He shrugs. “That’s enough for me. And I get to make your life better. That’s what your fucking wife should be doing for you instead of getting her rocks off with any cop who will flash his dick.” Daryl points angrily at the room beyond, as if Lori is standing right behind the door. “Because if she was, you wouldn’t have had to call me. We wouldn’t be in this bathroom and you wouldn’t be crying, but dammit if I’m not kind of glad that it worked out this way because it gets to be me and not her and I’ve never met that bitch, but I can’t stand to think about her hands all over you.” He sighs. “I want to be with you all the time. And that’s not a burden. That’s happiness.”

Rick stares at him, his eyes blue now, and open. “Say it again?” he asks and Daryl blinks.

“I love you.”

Rick squeezes his eyes shut and nods to himself. “I...it’s been so long since I heard it. So long since Lori stopped saying it. Since I stopped feeling it, too.”

Daryl leans his forehead against Rick’s and thinks pointedly about how their new bruises are touching. Because that’s a part of this the same as red-eyes Rick and his  _hungry for you_ , the same as blue-eyes Rick and his  _you make me feel like I could be normal again_. Daryl puts his hand on the back of Rick’s neck and he says to him softly again, “I love you.”

Rick blinks at him, so close Daryl is cross-eyed with looking at him. “I love you, too,” Rick whispers. “Dammit, I do. I don’t know what any of this means and I don’t know anything about my life right now, but I know that. I know I love you.”

Daryl lets out a slow building smile and he leans forward toward Rick, but Rick gets there first and their lips meet in perfect synchronization. Daryl tilts his head up to Rick and he slides his hand up into Rick’s hair, tangling his fingers in those precious curls. Daryl lets Rick kiss him, lets Rick dive into his mouth like jumping off a cliff into a roaring river and then there are hands and tongues, lips and nails. Rick pushes Daryl so that he’s sitting with his back against the sink counter and his legs spread out in front of him. Rick crawls into his lap and whimpers down at him, never leaving his mouth.

He puts his hand on Daryl’s neck in a mirror motion of Daryl’s hand earlier and he tilts Daryl’s head to just the right angle and Daryl marvels at how different it is, Rick’s normal and flat teeth, his blue eyes closed, but still there.Daryl realizes with a stark electrical surge that he’s never had sex with  _Rick,_  just the vampire, and suddenly he wants nothing more in the world than to be with Rick like that. He lifts his hips up into Rick to let him know just what he’s feeling and Rick gasps into his mouth. “Oh,” Rick breathes, his pretty little mouth making a small circle. Rick looks down at Daryl and he puts the tips of his fingers on Daryl’s forehead, right on his hairline. He slides his fingers in and widens his eyes at the motion. This close, Daryl can watch his pupils expand, can watch every little twitch and motion of his expression. Rick leans down so slowly, like he’s the spring blooming and touches his lips to Daryl’s. Daryl opens his mouth and lets Rick in and they are kissing like molasses, like erosion and the birth of stars. “Make love to me,” Rick whispers against his mouth, his eyes open wide and Daryl loses himself in blue skies, in clear, cold Southern creeks and old faded jeans. He thinks that this right now, with Rick looking down at him like that, their hands all over each other and their hearts fully open, might be the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

He nods to Rick and whispers back that he will, he will for as long as Rick wants and then Rick’s hands are grabbing at his shirt, tugging at it, and they have to pull away just enough for Daryl to get his shirt off. Rick dives back into Daryl’s mouth, muttering something that Daryl thinks might be his own name. But that’s okay, because Daryl is saying Rick’s back. He grabs Rick around his waist and twists them so that Rick can lay down on the tile floor and he can cover him, inch for inch. “I love you,” Rick says, breathing it out like it’s just a part of him and Daryl blinks because he could never have imagined this moment, never even fantasized about it. But it’s here right now and it’s perfect, so Daryl kisses Rick again and doesn’t care if he’s making Rick’s lips swollen because he has to let Rick know that Rick is his. Forever.

Rick gasps and arches up into him and their clothed bodies slide together and Daryl suddenly hates the person all those years ago that invented fabric. So he leans up and starts grabbing at Rick’s clothes until Rick gets with the program and throws them off. Daryl slides out of his pants and kicks his shoes and socks across into the corner that Rick originally fell into.

And then they are naked, just the two of them, on the tile floor of a hospital bathroom. But Daryl couldn’t give a fuck where they were because he has what he needs--the curls in Rick’s hair, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the flatness of his chest, the slight curve of his hips. And his eyes. Oh, Daryl could never forget about his eyes, burned into his soul. He holds Rick’s chin and whispers to him to close his eyes and so Rick does and Daryl leans down, kisses each eyelid and watches as Rick wrinkles his nose and lets a little laugh go. Daryl smiles and kisses his forehead and then his nose and then the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t no one ever going to compare to you,” Daryl says and Rick looks up at him, his eyes flicking all over Daryl’s face like he has to soak everything in. Rick lifts his hips and wraps his legs around Daryl’s waist, his arms around his neck, and they are back to kissing, lips sliding together and chests pressing up next to each other and Daryl’s hips grinding down into Rick’s, who is meeting him measure for measure and their cocks touch, graze against each other and they gasp at the same time and then Daryl smiles and Rick grins and Daryl asks him gruffly, kind of pissed that he has to ruin the moment, if Rick has anything they can use.

Rick nods and reaches over without untangling himself from Daryl or even taking his left arm away from Daryl’s neck. He manages to one-handedly grab his pants and fish in his pocket for the small tube and then he hands it to Daryl, blushing. “I always keep it with me now,” he says and goes apple red. “You know, because I love you.”

Daryl laughs and kisses him for that, the breath of his joy transferring to Rick. Daryl takes the bottle and pops it open and starts preparing him. As he slides one finger up inside of Rick, he reaches between them with his other hand and starts stroking Rick slowly. He watches as Rick’s mouth goes into an “oh” again and then widens out, the name  _Daryl_ ending with the tip of his tongue touching his lip. Daryl smiles and says Rick’s name like it’s both a novelty and the oldest thing he owns. He runs his thumb over the head of Rick’s cock and watches Rick’s head fall back on the tile, feels his nails as they dig into Daryl’s neck, perfectly flat and human. He slides another finger inside of Rick and feels Rick tense and then relax, his hips lifting up into Daryl and then down again. Daryl works his fingers deep inside, spreading them slightly, at the same time that he strokes Rick and Rick clutches at him, a pool of want just for Daryl.

“I need you,” Rick says and there’s so much in his voice, in the lightness of it, the depth of it. Rick opens his mouth to say something else and Daryl just catches  _love_ before he swallows Rick’s voice into his mouth, breathes him in like it’s not Rick living off of his life force, but the other way around. Rick sighs happily into his mouth and Daryl removes his hands from Rick. Rick breaks away, looking up at him with everything shadowed in his gaze--the essence of his humanity, the deep primal instinct of the vampire, all those simple and complex emotions.

“My lion,” Daryl whispers and presses his lips to Rick’s lightly, “my little bobcat.” Rick smiles against his mouth and arches into him.

“Yours,” Rick says, catching on the word. “Make me yours.”

Daryl nods and then he’s positioning himself and sliding in ever so slowly. Rick clings to him and gasps against his skin. He turns his head to search for Daryl’s mouth and Daryl tilts his own to meet Rick’s and then they are there, their bodies molding into one another like this is what it was meant to be all along, like there’s only the two of them in the world, like they can be like this forever and stupid trivial things like time and society and medication and conditions don’t matter. Rick arches his body into Daryl and Daryl rolls his body down to Rick’s and he’s thrusting in and Rick is giving and taking, but it doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like the waves of the ocean, wind in the grass, just the simple movements of nature and how things are supposed to be.

Rick’s body twitches under Daryl’s, little movements up and down, right and left, and Daryl gives him exactly what he wants, small changes of angle, speeding up here, slowing down there. They melt together, merge together, _move_ together so startlingly well that Daryl wonders if he was ever just one person, if there was anything ever to the Daryl Dixon that wasn’t touching Rick, wasn’t holding him or kissing him or moving in him or protecting him.

Daryl reaches down and touches Rick again, lets his fingers slide over Rick’s length achingly soft. Rick gasps against him and almost cries out with the smoothness of it. He clings to Daryl, his hands wrapped around Daryl’s neck like dogtags, possession so familiar and engrained that Daryl almost forgets they’re there. Daryl leans down and kisses him again, because how could he not? How could he ever keep his body away from this model of perfection, his sleek and beautiful, his elegant and confident, his sweet and timid Rick?

Rick moves up into him, his whole body arcing toward Daryl like an earthquake and he whispers so softly, but with such demand, “ _Come in me._  I want to feel you.” Daryl’s breath hitches and his hips buck and his cock jerks deep inside of Rick. Rick moans and fists his hand in Daryl’s hair and Daryl leans down to kiss Rick’s throat and then his chin and then he looks Rick deep in the eyes, holds his gaze and touches his jawline reverently.

“I love you,” Daryl whispers and then kisses him, his tongue driving the word past lips and teeth, past the roof of Rick’s mouth and that little cave beneath his tongue, down past all of it, deep into his body, into the marrow of his bones and his soul and Daryl is coming, spilling his whole being into Rick and Rick hitches and lets a little sound go, right into Daryl’s mouth and then he’s letting loose as well and they fall together into ecstasy, clinging to each other, touching as much skin as possible, pressing as hard as they can, caught up with each other to the full amount that any two people can possibly be. Daryl lets his body fall, lets all of the thoughts and worries melt out of his head, dissipate into the air like fog dissolving under sunlight and lets the little voids and corners of his being that have been dark for so long fill up with just  _Rick._  They lay on the tile floor together, their bodies wrapped up and whole, their mouths never leaving one another, their eyes closed but still seeing.

***

When Daryl finally opens his eyes again, he doesn’t know how long they have laid there like that, curled into one another and collapsed. His body feels extra sensitive, like even the air is setting off little pinpricks of sensation. He looks down at Rick, who blushes, but meets his gaze. Ever so slowly he pulls out and turns on his side, is about to gather Rick to him and just cuddle on the damn bathroom floor for a minute, when there’s a knock on the door.

Rick jumps under Daryl’s hands and turns his head lightning fast to look at the closed and locked door. “Mr. Grimes?” a female voice calls. “It’s Nurse Langston.” 

“Yeah?” Rick says, his voice rough and gravely.

“The doctor would like to see you soon. Are you okay in there?”

“M’fine,” Rick calls back and waits with baited breath until he hears footsteps disappear into the hallway. His head fall back, knocking against the hard floor and he lets out a long breath. “Fuck,” he says, but then he starts laughing and Daryl can’t help it. He joins in and soon one of them turns to the other and they’re kissing again, naked as the day they were born, staving off a doctor’s visit and the outside world.

But paradise can’t last, so Daryl eventually stands up and pulls Rick to his feet and into his arms. He kisses him softly one last time before they clean up and get dressed. Rick walks to the bathroom door and opens it slowly, glancing down at the scratches his nails had made against the doorknob. Daryl watches him swallow hard and so he steps up right next to Rick and puts his hand on the small of his back.

Rick nods back at him and lets Daryl guide him into the hospital room and over to the bed. Rick falls into it and when Daryl sees him shiver lightly, he reaches for the covers, shakes them out from where they were bunched at one corner of the bed and slowly tucks Rick in. Rick sighs into the soft fabric and buries his face up to his nose under the blanket. Daryl grabs a chair sitting nearby and scoots it across the expanse, the bottom scraping on the floor. He sets the chair right next to the bed and sits down, reaches for Rick’s hand and squeezes it.

Daryl looks up at the T.V., which has now turned from  _Maury_ into the  _People’s Court_. He frowns and grabs the remote, flips it until it gets to the hunting channel and turns down the volume until there is only the soft sound of leaves in the wind and the deep cadence of the deer hunter’s voice monologuing about his most recent experience. Daryl sits back in the chair and angles his feet to where he can prop them up on the bed. They wait.

Nurse Langston comes in within ten minutes and Daryl covers his bruise by brushing his hair across his forehead and slowly detangles his hand from Rick’s, but leaves himself otherwise the same. The nurse asks him who he is and Daryl mumbles “step-brother” and doesn’t give a fuck at the weird look he gets. She has Rick sit up slightly and she takes his blood pressure and his temperature, asks him how he’s feeling. She sees the bruise on his forehead and asks him what happened. Rick says he fell in the bathroom because he was unsteady and tells her that he feels that some of his symptoms are worse, such as his mood swings and generally not feeling like himself. She nods to herself, writes down some notes on a chart, and leaves.

“That what you tell them?” Daryl asks when she’s gone. “That it’s mood swings?”

“I don't know how to say it without sounding crazy,” Rick tells him and lays back down. “I can’t say ‘vampire,’ you know? They think it’s some freak medical thing, all the stuff that’s happening to me. Something about busted capillaries in my eyes. Anemia. Bad kidney functions.” He shrugs. “I keep hoping that something they do will help, but so far, nothing.”

Daryl looks at his shoes and twitches one of his feet back and forth where it’s resting on the second one. “Maybe they’re trying to fix a system that’s not busted.” He shrugs. “I’m just saying if this is a  _thing._  Like, you know, some form of genetic something or whatever. Like if you’re a different species now...then it has its own bodily processes, you know? And you’re fucking with them. Maybe it’s working perfectly, it’s just that they can’t define all the gears and wires.”

Rick shrugs. “Maybe. I thought at first that there might be some cure. But I don’t think there is one. I think I’m just going to be like this for the rest of my life. And part of me hates that. But the other part of me is kind of relieved, you know? That the limbo part might be over and I can just  _accept_ this.”

Daryl scoffs. “I can accept it  _real_ easy. Fucking pretty when you’re like that.” He blushes and clears his throat, wonders when exactly he threw his manly card in the trash. “Pretty all the time, though,” he finishes.

Rick ducks his head down into the covers so that only his eyes are showing, but Daryl can still see the crinkles at the corners where he’s smiling. “Yeah?” Rick asks.

“Yeah,” Daryl says and full out grins. “Fucking love all of you so don’t change it.” He grunts, but can’t keep the grin off his face at the novelty of saying the word  _love_ and truly and utterly meaning it.

Rick starts to say something else, but there’s a knock at the door and the doctor walks in. Daryl straightens himself up, taking his feet off the bed and Rick sits up and waits.

The doctor looks down at the file and nods to himself. “So,” he says, “it looks like you’re doing a lot better.” Fuck that, Daryl thinks. He’s absolutely  _not_ doing better if the bruise on Daryl’s forehead is any indication. The doctor continues. “Fever’s down and blood pressure’s fine. You look like you have more color to you, as well. More energy. And your eyes seem to have cleared up, too. Looks like you’re as fit as a horse now. Any leftover symptoms?”

Rick frowns. “Um...yeah,” he says. “I still feel, um, not myself. Like...mood swings and things, I guess.”

The doctor nods. “Might be expected. Seems like your body has put itself through a lot lately. Could just be hormones and adrenaline acting up. I wouldn’t worry too much about it unless it keeps happening for more than a week.”

Daryl rubs his chin. “Um, doc,” he says. “I don’t think he’s feeling too well. I mean, all the tests and things aside.”

The doctor furrows his brow and turns to Rick. “Other symptoms?”

“No,” Rick says, “I just feel more...aggressive, I guess. And like I blank out or something. Can’t control my actions.”

The doctor looks him up and down and frowns. “Well, seems like that might be more psychological. But I would be more than happy to have our clinic psychiatrist set up an appointment with you.”

Rick gets wide-eyes and looks like he might panic, so Daryl cuts in. “Don’t think he needs it. Think he just wants to stop with the meds.”

“Look,” the doctor says, “those meds might be the only thing keeping his system lined out. It looks like the anemia is dissipating and fast and I don’t want to risk it coming back up. We need to make sure that his kidneys are stimulating red blood cell production correctly and--”

“Just think maybe the cons outweigh the pros,” Daryl cuts in.

“It’s my professional opinion that they don’t.”

Daryl frowns and grinds his teeth a little. “Can’t make him take them,” he says to the guy, leveling his stare.

The doctor blinks. “No, that’s a personal decision.”

Daryl turns to Rick. “So stop talking them.”

“Mr. Grimes,” the doctor says, “I would highly advise against that. Without this medication, it’s incredibly likely that you’ll slip back into dangerously low energy levels again, not to mention the strain it could have on your body long term.”

Rick looks back and forth between the two of them. “I’ll...I’ll think about it,” he says.

The doctor nods and gives him a prescription slip and tells him that he’s good to go whenever he wants, but he can stay for the afternoon if he feels like he needs more monitoring. Rick nods and the guy leaves. Daryl turns to him. “Best if you stay off of them,” he says.

“I know,” Rick says and stares at the slip of paper. “Kind of nice to be energetic in the day, but it’s not worth it at  _all_ with the risk I’d be taking.” He crumbles up the paper and tosses it in the trash. He sighs heavily. “You going back to work?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Nah, shift’s over by now. Got Tony to cover for me and all I got to do is pull a double tomorrow. Gonna suck, but I can handle it.” He groans. “Six to six. Fuck me in my  _ass._ ”

Rick smiles shyly. “Maybe I will when you get home tomorrow.”

Daryl grins at him. “You sick puppy,” he says and then props his feet up on the bed again, takes Rick’s hand back up. “But for real...what’s the plan here? Cause I don’t want to leave you. Ever. Just in case you need me.”

“I always need you,” Rick tells him and squeezes his hand. “But I get what you’re asking. And the answer is...I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I guess I gotta think pretty fast. I mean Lori--”

And then, speak of the devil, Rick’s wife walks in.

She stops with her hand on the door, the other one holding her purse clutched to her side. She stares at them and Daryl unthreads his hand from Rick’s, but does so begrudgingly. Lori swallows and wrinkles her mouth like she’s just downed a lemon. “Rick,” she says and ignores Daryl entirely. “I heard your  _step-brother_ came to see you.” She raises her eyebrows. “Who is he really?”

Rick shrugs and avoids eye contact. “Met him at the station,” Rick says and that’s not really an answer.

“Well,” Lori says, “I think we need to discuss a few things. The nurse just talked to me about the new medication and she said the doctor came to see you.” She stands there for a moment, clearly waiting for Daryl to leave and when he doesn’t, she finally turns to him as if it’s taken her all her effort. “If you’re done, then, I need to talk to my husband.”

Daryl doesn’t move, just holds her gaze steadily. He tilts his head ever so slightly to Rick. “Want me to leave?” he asks. Rick opens his mouth and looks between the two of them, not really finding the words.

Lori sees it, too, so she straightens. “Rick, honey, I’m going to go get a coffee. We’ll talk when I get back.” She shoots Daryl one final glare and turns on her heel, sweeping out of the room. Daryl watches her go and starts wishing little evils on her--like getting lice in your nether regions and not being able to find that spider that keeps crawling across your dashboard.

Daryl turns to Rick slowly and picks up his hand. He kisses the knuckles and then sets it back on the bed just where he found it. “I’ll do what you want,” Daryl tells him. “But I’m not going until you tell me to. I just can’t. I can’t leave you wondering...just wondering.”

Rick swallows hard and looks at the door where Lori left, then back to Daryl. “I...I don’t know what to do.”

Daryl studies him, Rick’s eyes wide and searching. “Well, I...I don’t want to demand anything or give you an ultimatum or shit, but I guess you got to decide.”

Rick shakes his head. “There’s no decision. There never really was. But I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know how to have that conversation and do I ask for a divorce? Do I talk to a lawyer? What about Carl? With my _medical history_ and everything, will they even let me see him? Not that Lori lets me see him that much anyway now and I don’t know. What’s the right way to do this?”

“Guess you should tell her the truth,” Daryl says.

Rick scoffs. “Lori’s never wanted to know the truth. Not once in all of this.” He takes a big breath. “I think...I think you have to go. I don’t want you to. I really,  _really,_  don’t. But I think I have to talk to Lori and I think it’s best if I talk to her alone.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Daryl asks and reaches for his hand again, grabs it and runs his thumb over the top.

“I…” Rick swallows and nods. “The hunger’s gone. And I won’t take the medicine. So yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“And you’ll call me the  _second_ you feel like you need me?”

Rick nods again. “Yeah. Of course. The very second.”

Daryl sighs heavily. “Okay, then. I’m not happy about going, but I will. I understand that you’ve got to do this alone.” But he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand why Rick would ever have to be alone ever again. But he still stands and leans over, kisses Rick’s temple once, and straightens up. “So I’ll go. But I’m not that far, alright? If you need  _anything._ ”

“I know,” Rick says and then bites his lip, blinks his blue eyes and catches Daryl’s gaze with them. “I love you,” he says, the words whispered, but strong.

Daryl smiles and reaches out, puts his fingers right under Rick’s chin in a gentle hold. “I love you, too, baby,” Daryl says and then bends over, captures Rick’s mouth in his for just a moment before releasing him and walking out the door.

***

Those first five steps are the hardest Daryl ever takes. His feet feel like lead and the bottom of his stomach keeps dropping. Every cell all over his skin suddenly itches with the desire to turn around and gather Rick up into his arms, hold him in a vice grip so strong even a tornado couldn’t break through. But he told Rick he would give him space. So he will. Because Rick  _loves_ him and Rick asked it of him.

He walks back through the hospital and passes the waiting room as he does. Lori is sitting there, her lips pursed and her arms making little jerking motions as they flip through last month’s issue of  _People._  Daryl sets his jaw, squares his shoulders, and tells himself that he’s not going to get into it with her for Rick’s sake, despite the fact that he wants to spraypaint BITCH into her unnaturally straightened hair.

But Lori must not be in the same frame of mind as he is, given her glare as he walks across the room. She mumbles something under her breath that he think might end with “slut,” and for good or for worse, Daryl doesn’t back down from a fight.

He turns back to her, one hand on the door leading outside the clinic. “What you say to me?” he asks and ignores the look from the old couple in the corner and from the college aged girl in the leg brace.

Lori blinks up at him and looks around her at the very public space they’re in. “Nothing,” she says and goes back to  _People._

“Thought so,” Daryl says loudly and starts to push the door open to leave when she stands up.

“Wait,” she says and tosses her magazine down, walking over to him. Her arms are crossed and her body language is casual on the surface, if you can ignore the fire in her eyes and the twitching of her fingers on her arm. She walks close to him, close enough that her sickeningly sweet voice can lower without the people around them thinking anything of it. “I would appreciate it if you would stay away from my husband,” she tells him.

Daryl scoffs. “Yeah,” he says and refuses to lower his voice down to her cadence. “And I would appreciate it if you’d stop being a bitch to him.”

Lori blinks at him rapidly, her eyes wide and shocked. Daryl wonders if anyone has ever talked to her in that way or if she just lives her life with her face stuck like that. “Look,” she tells him and he can’t help but curl his lip into a snarl at the hand that has found its way to her heart, as if she’s some innocent choirgirl being accused. “I don’t want any trouble. And I’m trying to be civil. But I would ask you to not see my husband again.”

“Oh?” Daryl asks. “And why is that?”

Lori leans away from him slightly, her big eyes scanning him and Daryl thinks they look a little asymmetrical. “I don’t think it’s appropriate,” she says finally.

Daryl shakes his head. “You can’t make me do one damn thing, lady.” He says and turns away. “And if you want to keep him, you should try being nice for a change.”

“I’m his wife,” Lori says and her voice is hissing, as sharp and cutting as Rick’s nails, but somehow more damaging, more vicious. Daryl sighs and looks at her, but doesn’t speak. “I’m his wife,” Lori says again, her throat tight and the hand on her heart digging into her shirt. “And you’re sleeping with him. Aren’t you?”

Daryl swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and looks at the tile floor briefly before he nods slowly, more to himself than her. “If I was,” he says and snaps his gaze to hers, holds it there until she blinks, “I’d be doing a damn better job of it than you are.”

Daryl turns then and slams through the door because he’s said all he needs to say to her. But Lori is hot on his heels and when he doesn’t pause as he walks through the parking lot, she yells after him. “Did he have his ring on?” she asks, “When you started  _fucking_ him?”

Daryl stops between a red F-150 and a white Impala. “Yeah,” he says and whips around. “He  _did._ ”

“And you don’t care, do you?” Lori asks and lifts her hands up, just to smack them down against her sides. “You don’t care what family you’re ruining. I have a  _son._ ”

“And you’ve also got a dick on the side,” Daryl says and Lori widens her eyes so far that Daryl can see the whites of her eyes surrounding her pupils on all sides. He shrugs. “Rick told me about his partner. His best friend that you’ve been letting slide his cock up in you, so I don’t think you have room to talk.”

Lori’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but the lid on Daryl’s thoughts has already been twisted off and he continues. “And so, yeah.  _Yeah,_  I knew you had a son. Guess you knew that, too, huh?” Daryl comes at her and doesn't care what it looks like. He stalks angrily up to her and she takes a step back at his advance. “Doesn’t seem like you gave a shit about anyone’s  _family._ ”

Lori blinks up at him. “Rick knows?” she asks.

Daryl shakes his head at her. “Yeah,” he says. “Rick fucking knows.”

Lori puts her hand back up to her heart and she takes another step back. “I...I’ve been through a lot lately and you don’t know me. You don’t. How dare you accuse me--”

“Not accusing if it’s true.”

Lori opens her mouth and lets out a shocked breath, staring at him like he’s just stabbed a knife through her gut. “My husband,” she says and grinds it out, “is  _sick_ and he doesn’t know what he’s doing and you need to stay away from him. He’s not himself and if I have...if I have sought someone out for comfort, it’s because of what he’s been putting me through--”

“Real stand up wife you are,” Daryl says, “staying by his bedside like that. Holding his hand, huh? Being there when the medicine trips him out and he’s laying on a bathroom floor, crying his eyes out because he just wants to know that someone cares about him. Real fucking saint.”

Lori snaps her mouth shut. “Rick needs what the doctors give him,” she says. “He’s not himself,” she repeats. “He’s just not himself.”

“What they’re giving him is making him worse,” Daryl says. “And trust me, you don’t want him worse.”

“You don’t know anything about us. What gives you the right to talk to me about him like that?” She crosses her arms and glares. “Rick is sick. And he needs to get better. Whatever this disease is, it’s messing with his head and that nurse told me that today he was like himself. He had energy, his busted capillaries were corrected, he was  _fine._  And what? You want him to be still be messed up so you can pick up the pieces? So you can trick him into thinking that you care about him and you’re not some damn homewrecker?”

“I  _do_ care about him,” Daryl says, the liquid in his veins boiling like she just took a lighter to it. “And I ain’t got to justify anything to you. And yeah, you know what? Maybe he has more energy today, but it is making everything else worse.”

“There is no anything else,” Lori says and her voice is like diamonds, glittering crystal clear and unbreakable. Daryl notes her fingernails digging into her arms, the veins in her neck straining, her shoulders and her eyes and her mouth and her arms trying to hold back everything. Daryl thinks of what Rick said--that Lori never wanted the truth. And then he thinks too fucking bad.

Daryl straightens his spine and looks her hard in the eye. “You know what else there is,” he says. He thinks of red-eyed Rick, how smooth he moves and how dangerous, too. He thinks of that first night and how Daryl  _liked_ it, thinks of the second and how he was practically begging Rick for his threat, his wildness, and his violence.

Daryl wonders what it would be like to be a deer and to see that. To witness the mountain lion coming. To see the cheetah flying across the savannah and to know that all you are is a vulnerable piece of flesh, a soft and doe-eyed victim. “I don’t know anything,” Lori whispers and her voice is practically imploring.

“You’ve seen him at night,” Daryl says and watches as her breath gets faster. “You’ve seen his eyes and you know that no busted capillary does that. Have you seen them violet? Have you seen them bled out? Have you seen his teeth? His nails? The way he moves? Have you seen him speechless?”

“Stop,” Lori says, her voice barely a breath that she sucks back in hard and fast. “Stop,” she says again. “No.”

“You know what he is,” Daryl says. “You’ve thought about it at night, but you don’t want to say it. You don’t want to let yourself believe it.”

“My husband is sick,” she tells him, like it’s just something she says, repeats to herself, an explanation and a prayer.

“He needs someone,” Daryl says, “who can take care of him. He needs someone who understands and can help him. And that’s not you.”

Lori looks away, stares at the license plate of a Toyota Corolla and locks her eyes onto the flowers of the Sunshine State. “I…” she swallows. “Sometimes, he’s not even human. I look at him and that thing isn’t my husband.” She puts her hand to her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut. “Sometimes it’s not even a person.”

Daryl grinds his teeth, biting back the words he wants to say---his rage and his jealousy. “He is,” Daryl tells her. “You just can’t see it.”

“Take him away,” Lori tells him. “If you want to, take him away. I can’t look at him anymore. I can’t. I can’t.” She shakes her head and keeps repeating it over and over. “I can’t. I can’t.”

Daryl watches her sway there in the parking lot, repeating the simple phrase to herself, her hand on her mouth and her eyes locked shut. He sighs and digs in his pocket, comes out with a pen he always keeps there and a receipt. He writes down his number and his address and thrusts it at her. “That’s where I live and my phone. Rick still wants to be a part of your life. You’re still his family. I know you are.”

Lori takes the paper gingerly, holding it between her index finger and her thumb like she’s still not sure if she should drop it or not. “I tried to be a dutiful wife,” she tells Daryl and Daryl wants to slap her.

But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says and then he walks past her and back to the hospital.

***

When Daryl slowly slides the door open, Rick is curled up in the covers, laying on his side with his knees pulled up into his body. He lifts his head and looks up at the door and when he sees Daryl, he blinks and his face dissolves into a perfect picture of happiness--his mouth wide in a smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. But then he furrows his brow and asks, “Daryl? I thought you left?”

Daryl grunts and shrugs. “Yeah,” he says and closes the door, leans back against it. “Met Lori in the parking lot,” he tells Rick, figuring he’s got to get right to it even if he doesn’t want to. Even if he wants to just curl up in bed with Rick and forget about the world again. “Took off,” he says.

Rick furrows his brow and sits up. “Took off?”

Daryl sighs heavily, guilt suddenly heavy in his gut. He thinks about Rick telling him it would be better if Rick and Lori talked alone. He thinks of how he’s just robbed Rick of that. “Kind of yelled at her,” he says and makes eye contact with the floor. When he glances up, Rick has raised his eyebrows and has held one hand up in question.

“Yelled at her?”

Daryl crosses his arms and frowns hard. “She started it,” he says and grimaces. Rick keeps his eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for an explanation so Daryl sighs. He scratches the back of his head. “Called me a slut, so I kind of went off on her. Told her she didn’t have no right with Shane. You now? And then she told me...it doesn’t matter what she told me. But I didn’t like it. What she was saying about you.” Daryl shrugs. “She told me to take you and she left.”

Rick sits up straighter and repeats, “She told you to take me and she left. She _left_?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says and looks off in the direction of the bathroom, wants to go back there--to either Rick at his neck or Rick below him. Either one is better than this, having to tell Rick his wife doesn’t love him. Having to tell him their marriage might be over just like that. All because of a couple of sentences that Daryl couldn’t quite keep in. “Yeah,” he says again. “Guess so.”

“Without even coming in here to say goodbye?” Rick throws off the covers and stands, a little unsteady, but with way more energy than Daryl has seen him with during the day. He starts pacing and his eyes narrow into little blue slits. “So what? She just fostered you off on me like I’m some kind of pet? Like she doesn’t give a shit about me?”

“Seemed kind of upset,” Daryl says and wonders why the fuck he’s defending her. He shrugs and moves away from the door, toward Rick. “Don’t think she knows how to handle you very well when you’re all redded out.”

Rick blinks. “She should fucking learn,” he growls. “What did she say about me?”

Daryl frowns harder. “Nothing.”

“So nothing made you upset?” Rick says, his shoulders squared, the movements of his body building with unreleased energy.

“No,” Daryl says and sighs. “No, I just...I don’t want to repeat it.”

“I need to know,” Rick tells him. “I need to know what she said about me. What she said about Shane, cause she damn well owes me an explanation. I’ve put up with too much of her shit for her to just walk out on me. She doesn’t get to do this. She doesn’t get to just  _bail_ and throw me to you like I’m a used fucking blanket. She doesn’t.  _She fucking doesn’t._ ” He snarls and grabs the door handle, moves to throw it open when Daryl puts a hand on the door and lightly presses down to keep it shut.

“Why don’t we just calm down,” Daryl says, “and then we can go back to my place.”

“ _Your place_ ,” Rick spits with contention. “You know, it’s funny how Lori never asked me what I wanted in any of this. How she couldn’t even come up here to have a fucking conversation and I guess you’re not really going to ask either, are you?”

“Rick--” Daryl starts, but Rick doesn't let him finish, instead trampling over him at a million miles an hour.

“No. You know what? No. You don’t get to patronize me like that. I’m not some fucking doll you need to take care of in case it breaks. You had no right to talk to my wife like that. No right to talk to her without me. You don’t get to tell me what to do and you certainly don’t get to stop me when I have to go talk to her. Get out of my way.”

Daryl lifts his chin and squares his own shoulders. “I think we need to talk--”

“Out of my  _way,_ ” Rick yells.

Daryl tries once more. He says Rick’s name calmly and he reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Rick hisses hard and fast and smacks his hand away so hard that Daryl might have a bruise later. Daryl watches as his eyes go bright red just for a split second, anger and blood flashing dangerously across his irises before returning to a clear blue that’s just as ruthless, just as piercing. Daryl swallows hard and nods once, backs away slowly, letting his head fall down and his eyes move away from Rick. “Okay,” he says and notes that his voice sounds small, far away and fragile.

Daryl moves away from the door and watches at Rick wrenches it open, pauses briefly to tell Daryl, “I need to go talk to my wife,” and then spins on his heel and disappears down the hospital hallway. Daryl swallows back the bile in his mouth and sits down heavily on the corner of the bed Rick was just in.

***

It takes Daryl a long time afterwards to stand up and get himself up under his own two feet. He feels like he’s spent years in this hospital room--that Rick attacking him at the bathroom door was months ago and it’s going to take him another year just to process all the information that has happened in the short space of time. By now, sunset is flooding over the town and the streetlights are popping on slowly, the headlights on the lines of evening traffic half on, half off.

Daryl manages to keep his footsteps even as he walks back to the waiting room and then outside, across the parking lot where he yelled at Lori, to his truck. When he slips inside and sits down, it feels lonely. He thinks of what it would be like to have Rick sitting across from him. He thinks of the butterflies in his stomach earlier when he thought that was going to be the case. But it appears that his hopes were too soon and too fleeting.

He doesn’t turn on the engine yet, because he can’t quite make himself drive away. Maybe part of him is hoping that Rick will drive back up, say he’s sorry and that it was all a misunderstanding. The truth is, Daryl thinks, that the anger reflecting in Rick’s eyes could keep him away for a long time. Possibly forever.

Daryl doesn’t know what he did to warrant it. He thinks over the situation carefully and begins to pull little threads out, begins to slowly see things from Rick’s perspective. Maybe he didn’t have any right talking to Lori. Maybe it was Rick that should have said all of those things--stood up for himself and accused her of Shane, made her confess. Daryl guesses that that’s probably right. It should have been Rick hearing those things she said about him, about him not being a person. Maybe that could have helped Rick see just exactly what their marriage had come to. Maybe it would have helped him get some weird kind of closure. And yeah. Maybe Daryl took that away from him. Maybe they needed to hash it out without him and he was just the third wheel.

He thinks of Rick’s voice and how soft it was when Rick said he loved him. He thinks of how harsh Rick sounded when he hissed, red-eyed and wild. Daryl throws his head back against his seat and closes his eyes. What the fuck is he doing with a married guy? he asks himself. What the fuck is he  _doing_? How could he have ever expected Rick to handle this well--the gay thing, the affair thing? They  _were_ moving too fast, pushing the speedometer of the car to its maximum capacity and hey look. There’s a bridge out ahead.

Daryl sighs and cranks the truck. Rick isn’t coming back. He pulls out and turns left toward home, putting the hospital and maybe even his beautiful catlike Rick in his rearview mirror.

***

For the next few days, Daryl leaves his phone volume on, because if Rick calls, he’ll answer. He gets up early the following day and sets into his double shift at work, beginning calls bright and early at six in the morning. The day is sticky and hot and it does that bullshit thing where it rains in the afternoon for half an hour before dissipating, leaving the air heavy with water and sweat and doing nothing to cool down the triple degree heat. But still. He’d rather be out here, braving heat stroke and exhaustion, then he would be getting in the way of Lori and Rick. He never wants to see Lori’s smug little face again. And he never wants to hear Rick hiss at him like that, never wants to witness his eyes blow out into red anger and then sweep away again, so fast that no violet happens. Straight blue to red.

Daryl ignores his gut as much as he can--the constant clenching, tightening and releasing. His hands shake at the memory of Rick above him, kissing him so softly Daryl was pretty sure he could retire by the time they were done. His ears prick at the auditory hallucination of  _make love to me_ , at the ghost sensation of Rick’s finger at his temple as they slid into his hair, at the feeling of heaviness his tongue gets when he thinks of Rick kissing him.

Rick’s presence hangs in the air as sticky hot as the humidity and no matter what Daryl does, he can’t shake it. He constantly turns his head, imagining Rick out of the corner of his eye. He watches the treetops as they fly past on his way between one job and the next. He listens to the sound of the summer insects that infest the pristine lawns of his clients and remembers Rick’s voice and how his purr mixed with the crickets by the creek.

He checks his phone constantly.

At seven a.m. his phone dings, but it’s only Tony, wishing him a good shift and ending the message with an evil little emoticon. Then at noon his phone rings again, but this time it’s just the credit card company that Merle gave his number to when he signed up for Discover. At three, it’s the electric company, calling to say they’re doing an upgrade next month and to put the date on his calendar. And then, at six, it’s the county jail.

Daryl’s hand freezes as it grips the phone hard from where he flipped it up to face him, hoping and praying that Rick’s name would appear in big bold letters. Daryl sighs when he sees the caller and slides the answer button, puts his head next to the phone. “Yeah?” he says and after a minute of connecting, gets Merle.

“Hey, baby brother!” Merle says into the phone, his voice cheery and gruff as always.

“What you want?” Daryl asks, not in the mood. “I’m at work, so be quick.”

“Eh, you just got done with your shift. What? You think your brother don’t keep tabs on you? Think he can’t remember that you always work till six at that stinking little heatin’ company of yours?”

“What you want, Merle?” Daryl repeats again, a little growl to his voice.

“Thought you might like to come see ol’ Merle in jail. Got me settled in real nice over here for another two weeks. Got some shit to go over with ya, since you’re out on the big side and all.”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Do you  _have_ to talk to me face to face?”

“Why, Darylena,” Merle says, “I didn’t know you spent all those big bucks you had on new panties. Must be a bitch the way you got ‘em wadded.”

“Fine,” Daryl says and frowns. “ _Fine._  When’s visiting hours?”

“End at eight,” Merle tells him.

“It’s, like, an hour away,” Daryl says and Merle scoffs on the other end of the phone.

“Then drive fast, little Barbie,” he says and hangs up. Daryl looks at the phone and rolls his eyes. After a second, he jumps in his truck and cranks it, turns left toward the county jail. He doesn’t think about his conversation with Rick from before-- _Six to six. Fuck me in my ass_. And  _maybe I will when you get home._  And if he does, he most certainly doesn’t think about how he would trade that in for one glance at Rick, just one little glimpse to make sure he was okay.

***

Daryl hates prisons. He hates the closed off spaces, the metal clang of the doors. He hates the guards and how they eye him up and down like he’s got meth stuck up his ass in a little baggie. But he hates this trip even more than normal. Because one of the guards is a brunette with slightly curly hair and sure he’s taller with green eyes and more of a square jaw, but Daryl just can’t shake  _guard_ and  _police._  And even beyond that, the guards give him a hard time as he goes in to see Merle, either because he’s wearing a frown like he was born with it or because Merle’s been running his mouth. Or maybe a little bit of both.

It takes Daryl a good twenty minutes just to get  _into_  the visiting room and when he sees Merle there, slapping his hands against the table and humming some Willie Nelson song poorly, he wants to throttle him. “What,” Daryl says and throws himself into the chair across from Merle, giving him his deepest glare, “do you want?”

Merle scoffs. “Now ain’t this just a fine way to treat your only kin. Boy, I thought I raised you better.”

Daryl grinds the heel of his hand into his left eye and snarls. “Not in the mood, Merle. Tell me what you want or I’m walking back out of here and so help me god if I don’t tell the cops just where you keep the good stuff.”

“Hey now,” Merle says and leans forward, gives Daryl an up-and-down. “What’s gotten into you?”

“ _Nothing,_ ” Daryl bites out and doesn’t think about rose eyes and Rick’s teeth like little pinpoints of joy breaking into his veins.

“Oooohhh,” Merle says, drawing the words out and giving Daryl another look. “It’s something. What’s happened to you? Ain’t been gone long enough for you to get into any kind of trouble that would make  _that_ frown.”

Daryl sighs and leans back. “Nothing, Merle. Alright? I don’t want to talk about it.”

Merle nods slowly. “Hmm. Girl trouble.”

Daryl lets out a hard breath. “For the last goddamn time, Merle, I’m gay.”

“Alright, alright,” Merle says, holding up his hands. “Dick trouble then.”

Daryl would punch him, except the fucker’s right. So instead, he just shrugs and starts fidgeting, picking at the table in front of him. “Mighta…” Daryl starts and then swallows hard. “Mighta met someone.”

“And I take it it’s not the blond co-ed I’ve been hoping for.”

Daryl shrugs. “Nah. Brunette. Got these eyes man...fuck, his eyes. Can’t get ‘em out of my head. Just burned in and...god, so pretty. Fuck, Merle. I like this one.”

Merle scoffs. “Let me guess. Wild and rough all around, cept sometimes he’s got this sweet spot you want to nurture and pet or whatever it is you do.” He shrugs. “So what’s the problem? No dick talk. Skip the juicy details.”

Daryl bites his lip. “Married,” he says, going for the big bucks.

“Ooh,” Merle says, grunting. “Married, huh? Them’s the breaks.”

Daryl shrugs. “Seems to like me anyway.”

“Oh, they always do,” Merle says and looks off at the wall a little wistfully. “Let me tell you something, baby brother. Man to man. I got experience and let me tell you about these married broads. Dicks, whatever.” Daryl keeps fidgeting with the table, driving his nail into the wood and making little scratch marks. “Ain’t none of ‘em any good for anything. Oh, they always walk around flashing their titties and talking ‘bout how their man don’t love them no more and then they take you back to their place and bat their eyelashes and tell you their man ain’t made love to ‘em on this bed in years and they just want your cock and shit. And then, sure enough, their hubby walks in with his puffed out chest and his  _restraining orders_  and kicks you out with a black eye. And titties over there goes clinging to him all ‘Oh, Paul! You DO love me!’ and there you go. You’re the scapegoat and them bitches either getting a divorce or having some make up fucks on your behalf and whatever. They use you up like a McDonald’s gift card and throw you out in the garbage like you’re a bad piece of nugget. Ain’t never any good.”

Daryl swallows hard and averts his eyes. “Told me he loved me,” Daryl says softly.

Merle stares at him. “Course he did. You’re probably the first ass he’s got since his wife stopped giving out the kicks. Ya know? What was he gonna say?”

“God,” Daryl says, letting his breath out like a little bullet. “I told him I...Merle, I…” He rubs hard at his face and then sits up in his chair because he’s not anyone’s bitch and he’s not going to sit here and grovel and  _cry_ over some dumbass cop who just happened to be there. He won’t give Rick the satisfaction. “Man,” he says to Merle. “Tell me what you need and I’m going to  _go_.”

Merle sighs, but gets down into the details of things like rent and his parole. He tells Daryl to get him some commissary, to set up all the paperwork with the new parole officer, to even give him a fruit basket if need be. He assures Daryl that his next check will be in and clean and if Daryl can manage to swing the utilities for the month, Merle will apply to that job down at Taco Bell.

Daryl listens along and nods appropriately, makes mental notes to himself of his to-do list that’s suddenly piled him. And then Merle is done and visiting hours are over, so Daryl stands up. But before he leaves, Merle grabs his arm and tugs on it slightly. “Hey, man,” he says and frowns his typical Dixon frown. “You just wait till I get out. I’ll go with you to one of them dick bars and we’ll get you somethin’. Promise. Something real nice and not married. Okay? We’ll even break out the good bottle of whiskey I got under my bed.”

_Whiskey,_  Daryl thinks and shakes his head, blinking rapidly. A thousand dollar bottle of whiskey, Rick had said, his body so smooth and moldable under Daryl, his lips like some version of perfection. Daryl nods at Merle and turns away. “Thanks, man,” he says and that’s all he can force out before he turns and leaves.

When the guards return his phone to him, he checks it immediately. He doesn’t let his heart think too much of the empty calls screen.

***

When Daryl gets home, he goes immediately to bed. He’s been up since before the sun and it’s nine o’clock anyway. He throws his phone onto the kitchen counter when he walks in  _specifically_ leaving it out of the bedroom because he’s tired of looking at the damn rolling hills he’s picked as a wallpaper. He flops down into the covers and rolls himself up into them, creates a burrito in the center of his bed because if he’s going to be alone tonight, he might as well use up the furniture.

He sighs heftily and tries to will his mind into a blank place, tries to push down the bubbles of images that pop up like boiling water--how Rick looked sucking at his thigh, how he collapses against Daryl’s chest. How he touched Daryl’s neck after the first time he bit him--voice all soft and calming--- _ssshh, it’s going away_.

Daryl squeezes his eyes shut and feels the water welling in them, threatening to burst through like thunder. His skin tingles as it waits for Rick’s touch. His neck shivers as it hopes for the graze of Rick’s teeth. His ears prick as they listen for the sounds of the ringtone that signals  _Rick_. It’s Rick calling. It’s Rick wanting to be with him.

But there’s nothing. Only silence and a dusty and used house. Only Merle’s room down the hall, empty of people and filled with paraphernalia. Only the kitchen poorly stocked. Only the carpet with the little bitty fiber rips in it to remind Daryl of Rick.

Fuck, Daryl thinks. He hates being in love.

***

The next day is both easier and harder. Daryl only has one shift instead of the double, so when he gets home at six, his muscles aren’t as tired, his skin not as worn down by the heat and humidity. And he doesn’t have to drive an hour to a prison just to talk to his brother about his heartbreak. So that’s good. That’s better.

But it’s not. Because it gives Daryl nothing but time to think. He turns on  _MythBusters_ and tries to watch, but he couldn’t really give a fuck about whether MacGyver could have built an ultralight airplane from bamboo, trash bags, duct tape and a cement mixer. He flips to other shows briefly--Comedy Central, the rerun of  _Friends,_   _Sex Sent Me to the ER_. He even pauses on  _Say Yes to the Dress_ , boos at the frilly little number the older woman has chosen. And then he hits the power button on the remote, crushing it with his finger to give his emotions some little form of justice.

He thinks about texting Rick to ask him if he’s okay. He thinks about texting Rick to tell him to go fuck himself if he’s going to be all cold shoulder and shit. He thinks about getting wasted off his ass on that old tequila they have in the cupboard and then drunk dialing Lori, telling her she’s a bitch and that she doesn’t deserve Rick and moaning through his drunk tears that he wishes he was her, wishes he had a vagina so that Rick would love him.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Because he’s not a pussy. Instead, he gets up and changes into shorts and a T-shirt, grabs his iPod and pours his damn  _feelings_ into running, his feet hard on the concrete. He gets about half a mile before he wonders if this was really a good idea. He hasn’t been training like he really should be, Merle and then Rick distracting him from things like routines. He forces himself to finish a mile anyway and goes home, showers and drinks two bottles of water instead of the tequila. He sits down and forces himself through MacGyver and then through “does accelerating through a moose cause more damage than braking?” By then it’s late enough at night that he can collapse into his bedroom and his body is physically worn out enough that it lets him fall into sleep easier.

***

Daryl is woken by the sound of his ringtone blaring “You’re As Cold as Ice.” He winces a little at his melodramatic tendencies of changing Rick’s ringtone yesterday, but even that can’t shove down the schoolgirl like rush he gets to his stomach when he recognizes that he gave that ringtone to  _Rick._

He leans up on his elbow and grabs the phone, slides it to “answer” and says “Yeah?” in a sleep rough voice.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, but it’s not static and there’s no disconnection beep, so Daryl waits and listens. After a minute, softly, timidly, “Help me?” Daryl gets chills down his spine at the sound of Rick’s voice, more distant than the ten streets between them would warrant.

“Your house?” Daryl asks, but there’s just a click. Daryl stares at his phone for a minute and then flies out of bed and into his jeans. He barely has his shirt on when he opens the front door to rush to his truck and he barely gets the driver’s door closed before he’s barreling down the quiet roads. He checks the clock on his truck. 4 a.m. Motherfucker, he thinks and adrenaline shoots through his veins.

He pulls up to the driveway of Rick’s house and he parks, staring at the yard. There are no other cars here and the house looks quiet, all the lights shut off and dark. He almost puts his truck in reverse and drives to the police station instead, but then thinks he should probably check. He turns off the truck and slips out, walks up slowly to the porch. He has a brief thought that maybe this is the wrong house, but no, he remembers it. This is the right fence, the right garage. These are the right azalea bushes, the right kid’s bike parked off to the side.

Daryl slides up to the front door and pulls up his fist to knock, but then he sees that the door is open just slightly. He frowns and pushes it open just a little more. “Rick?” he asks into the darkness and doesn’t get a response. But then his breath catches as he sees a figure sitting on the living room couch in the darkness. Daryl studies the familiar profile and then he flips on the lightswitch.

The living room is bathed instantly in light and Daryl has to blink several times before he can make another move. There is a lamp in the corner turned over with the bulb shattered and the  _coffee_ table is tilted at an unusual angle. There is a picture frame fallen off in the corner, sitting facedown on the carpet and Daryl thinks he might see just the barest hint of red covering one of its corners. Rick is sitting in the middle of it all, his eyes facing forward and glassy. And violet. He’s clutching something in his right hand and Daryl can see that his skin is shivering and shaking.

“Rick?” Daryl asks again and takes a step forward, feather light and careful. There can be no mistakes here. “Rick?” he asks a third time and Rick finally jerks his head like he’s just heard the sound, turns his face toward Daryl like fighting through a current.

“She left me,” Rick says, his voice hollow and far away. “She took Carl and she left.”

Daryl swallows and fights the turmoil of emotion mixed up within him like he’s just a sack of flour swirling in a blender. He nods. Lori is alive, he thinks. Carl is alive. But Rick misses her. But Rick called me. But his eyes are violet. But she’s alive. “What happened?” Daryl asks and slowly sits down beside him on the couch. He makes no move to touch Rick.

“She had to know,” Rick says and looks up at him, his eyes storms. “She had to know so...so she knows.” Rick squeezes his right hand and Daryl watches as his breath catches, gets rougher and more irregular.

“Hey,” Daryl says and keeps his voice even, a solid and steady line for Rick to grasp. “Hey, baby. It’s fine. She knows. That’s good.”

“She took Carl,” he says and his fingers twitch.

“You’ll see him again.”

“She left me.”

“Did you want her to stay?”

“I yelled at you.”

Daryl takes in a hard breath and nods. “Okay. You did. But I forgive you.”

Rick laughs, low and primal. “I don’t forgive myself. I don’t have you anymore. I had you and I blew it.”

“Rick,” Daryl says softly. “We’ll figure this all out. I’m here to help.”

“I can’t ask you to help,” Rick says and stares at him. “I can’t…” He watches Rick’s arm muscles tighten, bunch up and then release.

“It’s okay,” Daryl says and then asks, “Can I touch you?” He holds his hand out, moving it slowly through the air.

Rick nods and Daryl holds his breath in, keeps his chest and his head stable, holds Rick’s gaze unwaveringly. He reaches over, moving his hand at a steady but easy speed to Rick’s right hand. He grasps the gun that Rick is clutching. Daryl’s fingers close over Rick’s and he worms his way under them and then Rick lets go of the metal and Daryl pulls it back to himself.

Daryl lets go of the first breath he thinks he’s taken since he walked in and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and hanging his head down between them. He clutches the gun in his hand and wills his heart to stop racing, wheels the sickening venom lodged in the back of his throat to dissipate. He rocks forward and then back and takes another breath. Then a third. He looks at Rick, who is watching him and then he sits up, pulls the gun up to chest level and checks it. Safety off. He checks the barrel. Fully loaded. He snaps it back in and flicks the safety on and sighs heavily into the air. He puts his head back between his knees.

“I didn’t--” Rick starts, but Daryl growls at him.

“Fuck you,” he says and then the air swirls with silence around them. Daryl rocks back and forth again, stares at the silver coating on the Python and focuses on breathing. In and out. In and out. He doesn’t sit back up and he doesn’t look at Rick. “I…” He starts, but can’t quite get it out. He tries again. “When…” But that doesn’t work either. He stills his body as best as he can, stops the rocking and the shaking. He stares down at the barrel of the gun and then takes in a small little even breath. “My momma set herself on fire. Then my daddy did it with rope.” He lifts his head and then he slams the gun down onto the coffee table, lets the metal hitting the glass rattle in the living room. “Don’t need a fucking gunshot, too.”

Rick blinks at him and then sinks into himself. Daryl notes that his eyes are no longer glassy and instead filled with something that might be guilt. Rick falls back onto the couch and pulls his legs up to his chest, puts his head on them.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Daryl asks him.

Rick shakes his head once and that seems to unloose something in him. He starts shaking his head again and again and Daryl sees his nails digging into his thighs. “I didn’t know if it could hurt me,” Rick says and shakes his head. “I didn’t actually try, but I thought if it did it was a sign. And if it didn’t it was a sign.”

“Fuck you for doing that,” Daryl says to him. “Fuck you for doing that to me.”

“This isn’t about you,” Rick says and looks up at him, blue-eyed now and lost.

“The fuck it’s not,” Daryl says and kicks the coffee table viciously. The table scoots across the living room carpet with a crackling sound as the gun rattles on the glass. “Shit like this is never about  _you._  It’s about the fucking people around you. God. You fucking  _dickweed._ ” Daryl looks off into the kitchen, away from Rick, because he  _can’t._  He can’t let Rick see the streaks coming down his face, can’t let Rick see that maybe he’s a little lost, too.“You’re  _mine,_ ” Daryl says with a finality that stops time. He swallows. “You’re mine, Rick, and you always will be. You were mine the first time I laid eyes on you. You’re  _mine_ and you know it. You’re not fucking  _Lori’s._  You’re not any of those prisoners’. You’re not anyone else’s but  _mine._  You’re a part of me and you have been since I saw you and maybe before that, I don’t know. But you fucking cock that gun and you destroy a part of me. You destroy me.” He shakes his head hard.

“I couldn’t,” Rick says softly and then trails off. “I couldn’t face you after yelling at you like that. Hitting you and...and hissing. After everything you did for me, I was such a dick.”

“So it would be easier,” Daryl says and swings around to face him, “for you to do this than it would be for you to call me up and tell me you’re sorry?” Rick looks away in shame and Daryl is suddenly a volcano, a cannon, a tsunami. He reaches forward and grabs the gun angrily and he pulls it to himself. He flips the safety back off and he shoves it at Rick’s chest. Rick jumps back from it, scrambling on the couch so that he doesn’t have to touch it, but Daryl just extends his arm farther and pushes the metal into Rick’s body. “Fucking take it,” Daryl says. “Or tell me what you’re afraid to say.”

“I can’t--”

“Those are your two fucking choices, Rick. That’s all you get. Right here and right now. Put this goddamn bullet in your head or you fucking say what you need to say.”

Rick blinks at him, his whole body shaking like a leaf. “How can I ask--” Daryl growls and thrusts the gun forward. “How can you--” Daryl shoves it into his chest, digging the metal in.

“ _Okay!_ ” Rick yells and Daryl’s eyes are on Rick’s while Rick’s are on the gun. “Okay. Alright. Take it away. Okay. I’ll say it.”

Daryl pulls back and waits. Rick takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his mouth. “Take care of me,” he says and looks up at Daryl. Daryl catches his gaze and something like water rushes through his veins, ice cold and cleansing. Daryl looks down at the gun and sighs, flips the safety on. Rick closes his eyes and Daryl can hear him counting to ten. He lets him get all the way there and then Rick continues. “I have no right to ask you any of this. I have no right to ask you to take me on and I’m selfish to call you and bring you here and ask you to take me back. But I want you to. I want you. I want to be with you. It’s the only time I feel sane and I don’t feel sane right now. I don’t.” He bites his lip. “Guess it’s pretty obvious.” Daryl doesn’t say anything, so Rick keeps talking. “I don’t...I don’t think I could have done it. I don’t think I could have pulled it. But I didn’t know what to do and I know that’s no excuse. I should have called you. But I thought maybe it would be easier. Maybe it would be better for you and I know that was a decision that is yours and not mine. So I’m sorry. For all of it. And I want to make it up to you. I don’t know how, but I do. I want to stop this.  _All_ of this.”

Daryl swallows hard and bites down the lump in his throat. “Lori?” he asks, because that’s at least less painful.

Rick nods. “Lori,” he says and looks at the lamp. “We argued. A lot. There was a lot of yelling. My condition, Shane, you. All of it. And I tried to tell her the truth, but she wouldn’t listen. And so I got fed up and I...I bit her and she freaked out and…” he looks at the fallen picture, at the carpet. “She got hurt. Not bad, but still. And she took Carl and she left. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. And I just thought about how I didn’t have anything. Not her, not my son. Not you.”

“I love you,” Daryl says and chokes on it. He shakes his head and lifts the gun, tilts it into the light. “I love you and I’m going to take care of you. And I’m going to keep on loving you forever because I think that’s what I was made to do.” He stares at the little grooves in the gun, the worn places from use on Rick’s belt. His  _cop_ gun, Daryl thinks. “But if you ever have the follow through,” Daryl tells him, “I’ll stop.” Daryl turns and looks him straight in the eye and bores it into Rick, wills him to understand and to believe the words that Daryl is saying. Wills him to understand what’s on the line and if his life doesn’t matter to him, maybe this will. “I can’t love you if you do this. I won’t. I stopped loving my momma a long time ago. Stopped giving a shit about my dad. You do this,” Daryl says and shows Rick the gun, makes him look at it, “you don’t deserve anything but the cold hard ground.” He watches as Rick’s eyes meet his, as their gazes lock. He sees the final little glimmers of glassiness recede and then Rick nods ever so slightly and he keeps nodding, over and over.

Daryl stands and he sets the gun down on the coffee table again. “Got a suitcase?” he asks. Rick nods and then Daryl holds out his hand. Rick puts his own in Daryl’s and Daryl pulls him up from the couch and keeps on pulling, dragging Rick right into his chest. Rick melts in and clings to him like Daryl hoped he would, the normal and regular pattern. Daryl wraps his arms around Rick and he sinks into it--into the way Rick’s body feels around him, into the way Rick is tucked down into his chin.

“Make me a different person,” Rick says to him. “Show me I can be.”

Daryl nods. “You can,” he says and kisses the top of Rick’s head, puts his fingers in those curls he’s missed so goddamn much. “You are. You just gotta get back to it.”

***

They find an old suitcase buried in the back of the closet since Lori took Rick’s new one and they load it up with clothes and personal items that Rick will need. Daryl doesn’t say much as they work and even though Rick keeps giving him small little glances, he doesn’t offer to start up conversation. They swirl around each other like oil and water--moving from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen, grabbing necessary supplies. Daryl always keeps within range of Rick, within touching distance, but there’s something like an invisible barrier separating them, pushing them both away. For the first time since he’s met Rick, Daryl wants to know what’s going on in his head. He wants to crack Rick’s brain open and watch all his secrets pour out, sift through all the thoughts and images to assure himself, really  _know_ whether Rick would have squeezed the trigger. Really  _know_ if he’ll ever try it again.

But he guesses that even Rick might not know that and Daryl is bone-tired and weak so he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t talk. They gather up the suitcase and a gym bag and take them to the truck, throwing them in the back. Rick gets in and shuts the door, leans his forehead against the window and sighs. Daryl climbs into the driver’s side and cranks the engine, backs out of the driveway and heads toward home, ignoring the sunrise threatening to burst across the sky behind them.

They make it to Daryl’s place and Daryl grabs both of the bags from the back before Rick can move to grab one. He takes them in the front door and Rick follows him at a distance, his thumbs looped awkwardly in his belt. Daryl drops the bags on the floor in the living room and goes straight for the kitchen.

Rick leans against the doorway as Daryl pulls open the glasses’ cabinet and slams down two shot glasses. From his peripheral vision, Daryl can see Rick swallow hard as Daryl pulls out the bottle of tequila and pops it open. He pours the shot glasses full and thrusts one at Rick, downing his before Rick even has his hand up to grab it.

Rick takes the glass and peers into the amber liquid. “Don’t even know if I can get drunk,” Rick says and Daryl grunts.

“Good time to try,” he says and picks up the bottle, fills his glass and leans forward, waiting for Rick to down the first shot so he can give him a second. Rick sighs and does, then holds out his hand to let Daryl tip the bottle up. Daryl watches the tequila as it leaves the narrow bottle opening and pours into the shotglass, watches as a little drop splashes on the skin between Rick’s thumb and his forefinger.

Daryl finishes pouring and slams the bottle on the counter, tosses back the second shot and then just stares at the fridge and the note that Merle left him on their white-board that he hasn’t gotten around to erasing about the girl at Sam’s Club with the rockin’ tits.

“I’m sorry,” Rick says and Daryl doesn’t know if hearing it makes him feel better or worse. He shrugs and stares at the glass, sticks his tongue in it to gather the leftover liquid, but doesn’t move for a third shot. “I’ll never do it again,” Rick says.

Daryl grunts. “Not tonight,” he says and frowns. “Don’t tell me that tonight.”

Rick nods slowly and Daryl sighs heftily, swings his arm around to grab the bottle he didn’t even close, but Rick gets there first. Rick looks him in the eye and then he screws the top back on and puts the bottle back in the cabinet Daryl took it from. He takes the glass from Daryl’s hand and tosses both of them in the sink before turning on the water and grabbing the sponge that’s laying on the edge.

“What are you doing?” Daryl asks.

Rick shrugs. “Figure if I’m going to live here might as well get used to it.” He washes the glasses slowly, making little glances at Daryl as he does so.

Rick finishes washing the dishes and puts them in the strainer before turning to Daryl. He picks up a kitchen towel laying nearby and drys off his hands, sighing. “I gotta say this. So please just hear it.” Daryl frowns and makes a point to look at the liquor cabinet. “I’m sorry about the hospital.” Daryl turns to him and nods. “I’m sorry about how I acted. I was just...really confused. I mean, I guess I wasn’t confused. But I was...torn. I had a lot going on and I needed to end it with Lori so I could begin it with you. Not that we hadn’t already begun.” He frowns. “There was just a lot of stuff. And I didn’t handle it well. But I never,  _never_ meant for you to think that I didn’t care about you. Even though I realize that it might have come off that way.”

Daryl sets his jaw and tightens his arms as he grips the counter behind him. “They tell you married fucks lie to you,” he says. “I thought maybe you just thought you were in love with me cause I was the first thing you had since your wife. Then thought maybe losing her made you realize you still wanted her. Then thought...shit. Thought a lot of things.”

“Me, too,” Rick says.

Daryl stares at the distance between them, counts the square of tiles between his feet where he’s leaning on the counter and Rick’s feet where he’s leaning against the sink. Six. Six tiles that feel like continents.

Rick clears his throat. “But, um...but it wasn’t like that. It never was. You…” Rick swallows. “I’ve never felt anything like you.” He smiles slowly, timidly, like any second the muscles along his mouth could break. “It’s like I could see color for the first time. It was like smelling blood for the first time after I changed. Or like...I don’t know. Eating chocolate.” He looks down at the dish towel in his hands, wrings it and wraps it around his hand. “You’re new and exciting and you’re brilliant and you know me.”

“Don’t know you that well,” Daryl says and grinds his teeth.

“Yeah you do,” Rick says.

“Never thought you could do that,” Daryl says and doesn’t have to elaborate because they both know he’s talking about Rick’s figure sitting alone in a dark house.

Rick shakes his head. “No,” Rick says softly. “I think you did know that. I think you know what I’m capable of. But...but you know I can get past it, too. You know what I can be. Right? Because that’s the part that I don’t know. That’s the part that I need you to tell me.”

Daryl nods and counts the tiles again, those six lonely steps. “You know those big cats,” Daryl says, “in captivity? Like the lion that doesn’t know how to hunt or the leopard that’s not afraid of people anymore? And you know how sometimes they’re best friends with their handlers but other times, they just lash out without provocation. Like something was switched off within them and they just  _strike._  That’s you. You’re in a wrong environment and you got backed into a corner. And so you did something that wasn’t like you. You’re like a fucking tiger that’s been raised by humans since birth. You don’t know how to be you.” Daryl shrugs. “So you’re all mixed up and jumbled.”

“So what are you saying?” Rick asks, his eyes pleading and raw. “That I’m just fucked?”

“No,” Daryl says, “I’m saying you need to start listening to your gut and your instinct. You need to start being in your own environment. Break out of the cage.” 

“What’s the cage?” Rick asks.

“It’s everything you’ve been doing,” Daryl says and straightens from leaning on the counter. He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “The hospital. The doctors. The hiding in the day and working desk at night. The trying to love your wife who doesn’t love you.” He lifts one hand out of his pocket and starts gesturing. “The trying to hide from what you are so much that you don’t even want to say it. Don’t even want to take substance into your body until you’re starving. Don’t want to accept things like how red eyes can be beautiful.” Daryl takes a step across the tiles, covers two in that one distance. “Like how purring can be natural and hissing can be just you expressing your discomfort.” Another step and now there’s only two left. “Like trusting yourself and  _loving_ yourself.”

Daryl makes the final step and reaches up, sliding his fingers under Rick’s chin. He tilts Rick’s head up so that Rick is looking at him and he stares into the clearest blue waters he’s ever seen. “Rick,” he says, “you’re a vampire. You’re _my_ vampire. And I’m going to take care of you. But you gotta start taking care of yourself, too.”

Rick nods firmly and glances down briefly at the floor, before looking up at Daryl. “I will,” he says. “I will. I’ll do my best. Just...please help me?”

Daryl nods and then he smiles because the tequila is hitting him and also because Rick is there, his body heating up slowly under Daryl’s touch. Daryl leans forward and presses his lips to Rick’s and then Rick is really there, tilting his head to the angle that Daryl likes, arching his body up into Daryl’s so they touch inch-for-inch, kissing him with open mouths and open tongues and open communication. The oil and the water dissipate, the tiles shrink down to their regular size, and Daryl feels himself snap back into place like a rubber band, like a mousetrap, like a wire and a connector. He tangles his hands in Rick’s hair and Rick wraps his arms around Daryl’s waist and suddenly they are ocean waves, weather patterns, the sliding of tectonic plates crashing together and coming apart and joining back again and rocking and being, and being, and  _being._

Daryl loves him with a stark clarity that surpasses things like sunshine and diamonds and there’s nothing in the world that he wants more right now than to just cling to Rick, to just fall into him gracelessly and messy, all teeth and angles and the rough pores of rocks. And so he tells Rick that, growls “fuck me” against his mouth and Rick’s eyes widen and Daryl watches as they go red on cue and he grins because he’s taught Rick that trick.

“R-right here in the kitchen?” Rick asks and then he grins and Daryl can see the hint of his fangs popping out. “Or do you want to try a bed this time?”

Daryl smiles and runs his hand up under Rick’s shirt and across his ribcage, listening to the deep rumble of the purr he pulls out of Rick’s chest. “You could take me to bed,” he says, letting his voice go all gravelly and sex-heavy. “Could even tie me up if you want.”

Rick growls in his throat, a rumbling and sexy sound and he strikes forward, grabbing Daryl’s lip in his own and biting down on it, drawing blood. Daryl moans and Rick sucks at his lip and then licks his tongue down between Daryl’s teeth and his lip, healing the wound and Daryl presses forward, shoving him back into the sink so that Rick can feel how hard he is. “I think I got some ideas,” Rick says against his mouth and Daryl grins because he does too.

He moves away from Rick quickly and slides out into the living room. He rushes across it and down the hallway and hears Rick as he tumbles along behind him playfully. Daryl aches for the forest again. For this to be long grasses and brambles instead of carpet and wood. But he’ll take what he can get. Because this is good, too, Rick catching him just as he enters the bedroom and tripping him so he falls down onto the bed with Rick on top of him. Daryl’s back hits the covers and it’s soft and warm, nothing like the metal interrogation room table, the soil of the forest, or carpet and tile. But Rick is the same above him, his skin just starting to get feverish with the rising sun.

Daryl groans. “Got enough energy to fuck me before the day really hits?”

Rick smiles down at him. “Oh yeah,” he says, “I’m going to use every ounce I got.” Daryl smiles back at him and arches his neck and so Rick leans down and kisses his collarbone through his shirt and then his neck and then his ear. “Naked,” Rick hisses into his ear. “Is what I want you to be.”

Daryl moans and bites his lip. “Yes,” he says and rolls his hips up into Rick.

“I’m going to watch you,” Rick says and bites down on his earlobe, pierces one of his teeth in. “Watch you undress,” he says and licks the little hole. And then he pulls off of Daryl. He stands up off the bed and he unzips his pants, pulls himself out and takes himself in his hand. He watches Daryl, his eyebrows raised in anticipation and right as Daryl reaches for the hem of his shirt, Rick starts to stroke himself.

Daryl makes eye contact with him, noting the crimson in Rick’s irises, the blown pupils, and the way he has his chin ducked down slightly, his expression intense. Daryl pulls his shirt up slowly, lets it slide against his chest and then over his head and he glances down to Rick’s full and erect cock, his hand sliding over it smoothly.

Daryl grabs his own pants and stares into Rick’s eyes as he unbuttons them. He watches Rick’s mouth fall open in a little gasp and sees Rick’s thumb as it touches the head of his dick. Daryl grins and then gasps himself as he pulls the zipper open and slides his pants down just enough for his own cock to break free. Rick’s eyes widen at it and Daryl gets harder under his gaze. “All for you,” he whispers to Rick. “See how hot I am for you?” He reaches down and takes his own cock in his hand, in a mirror motion of Rick and strokes as Rick strokes. He watches Rick’s breath catch in his throat, watches him swallow it down and then Daryl lifts his hips up ever so expertly and slides the rest of his clothes off. He lays back down on the bed and looks Rick in the eye, lets his fingers ghost over the length of his cock.

Rick licks his lips and then he takes his hand away from himself, throwing his shirt over his head. He steps out of his pants easily, kicking them into a corner and then he leaps over onto the bed, covers Daryl in one easy move and has his hand around Daryl’s throat, pressing down hard. Daryl throws his head back and gasps out what breath he can as Rick squeezes and growls above him. “You got a tie?” Rick asks him and Daryl twitches in his own hand. He motions over at the closet and Rick grins, leans down and kisses the hollow of his throat.

Rick steps away to the closet and fishes in it, finding the tie that Daryl indicated and dragging it out. Rick shakes the length of it out and then he tells Daryl to put his hands up on the headboard. Daryl rearranges himself so that he’s not laying at the angle he was before and he reaches up to put his hands on the bars of his headboard. Rick reaches over him and wraps the tie around the bars and Daryl’s wrists, tying him down and Daryl moans out loudly into the bedroom, his cock at full attention. “You gonna fuck me or what?” Daryl asks, his voice as rough as sand.

Rick smiles down at him and leans over, dips like he’s going to kiss him, but then jerks back at the last moment, giving Daryl a teasing grin. “No,” he says and cocks his head, lets his red eyes scan down Daryl’s body. “I’m going,” he leans over and puts his mouth right next to Daryl’s ear, “to  _ride_ you. So hard and so fast,” Rick says and then sinks his whole body over Daryl, straddling him. Daryl moans and arches his hips up into Rick and Rick rolls his own down against Daryl and their skin meets, hot and smooth and Daryl gasps. “You’re going to be my bitch,” Rick says and tangles his hands in Daryl’s hair, digging his nails in and pulling. “Even if your cock is in me. Aren’t you? Aren’t you going to be my little bitch?”

Daryl nods and closes his eyes, basks in the feel of Rick over him--his nails and his groin and his skin. “Yes…” he hisses out and Rick digs his nails in further.

“ _Say it_ ,” Rick tells him and then Daryl gasps it out.

“Yes,” he says, “Yes, I’m going to be your bitch.”

He opens his eyes to look at Rick and Rick grins. “Nightstand?” he asks and Daryl nods yes, so he reaches over and fishes for the bottle that he needs, pulls it out and starts preparing himself. Daryl watches with wide eyes as Rick works his fingers into himself, letting his cock bob right in Daryl’s line of sight. Daryl licks his lips and then he thrashes a little, tugging at the tie that has him secured on the bed. He arches and rolls his hips, but Rick squeezes his thighs around Daryl to keep him down and Daryl is ready, so  _ready,_  to be in Rick.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. Rick puts his hands on Daryl’s throat, so lightly, but his fingers in perfect squeezing position. “Tell me you want to fuck me,” Rick says. “Tell me you want me to fuck you. And then tell me,” Rick says and leans over, puts his lips right up on Daryl’s, “that you want me to  _bite_ you.”

“I want that,” Daryl gasps out. “I want all of that. I’ve missed you. I’ve  _missed_ you. Fuck me. Let me fuck you. Bite me. Let me be yours.”

Rick smiles and kisses him then, long and hard and hot, all angles and pressure and domination. Daryl moans and thrashes, arches up into Rick and he’s practically going to  _come_ if Rick doesn’t stop teasing him right now, goddammit. But Rick must be at that point, too, because he pulls away quickly and grabs Daryl’s length in his hand, holds it steady, and sinks down on it.

Daryl moans loudly to the ceiling and throws his head back, calls out “Rick!” to the old house walls. Rick moans with him and digs his nails into Daryl’s chest. Daryl looks at him and watches as Rick lifts his hips up and down, onto him and off of him. Daryl bites his lip and wonders just how long he can last with this vision above him and then Rick leans over, cobra fast, and strikes at his neck.

Daryl chokes out a scream and bucks his hips up hard into Rick, shoving his cock as far up as he can get. Rick cries out against his neck at the thrust, but still manages to keep his teeth in and then he’s sucking at Daryl’s neck and Daryl is rocking up into him and he’s rocking down onto Daryl and it’s the perfect rhythm, the perfect rolling movement, the perfect coming together.

Rick bites down on his neck hard, strangling him and Daryl opens his mouth to gasp, but nothing but a squeak comes out. He focuses all his energy on the ceiling, on a small little point where four tiles meet, just so that he won’t come right now and ruin this moment so soon. And then Rick pulls off his neck, tangles his hands in Daryl’s hair, and puts his forehead against Daryl’s. Daryl stares at his eyes, so close and so red. And his mouth, painted with Daryl’s blood. Rick grins at him. “I like doing that,” Rick says and rises off of him and then back down. “I like biting down so hard I can feel your heartbeat in your veins.” He gasps and leans forward to lick into Daryl’s mouth, kissing him all bloody and wanting. “I like,” Rick tells him, “feeling how much you like it, too. Like feeling you twitch inside of me when I cut off your air.”

Daryl moans and arches his hips upward, working himself into Rick. “Goddamn it, you prick,” he says, “I’m going to come right now if you keep talking like that.”

Rick grins, slow and feline. “Oh I’m going to make you come,” he says and puts his fingertips at the edge of Daryl’s hairline, threading his fingers in. Only it’s not like before, so soft and loving. This time it’s hard and rough, pulling and stinging. He fists his hand in Daryl’s hair at the back of his head and pulls so that his neck stretches out before him. “I’m going to make you finish harder than you  _ever_ have. You got one job, baby,” Rick says and licks a stripe up his neck. “I want you to try and get your cock as far up in me as you can. Get your fucking come so far up in me it’s never going to come out.”

And then Rick bites down on his neck just like Daryl wants him to, cuts off his air supply and digs his fingernails even harder into Daryl’s scalp. Daryl thrusts upwards as best as he can, without any set rhythm. Just rough and hard and  _abandon._  Rick rises and sinks off of him and they writhe together, roll together,  _fuck_ together. Daryl pulls at the tie, wanting to use his hands, but not able to. But even that is hot, all power taken away from Daryl by the tie and the headboard and Rick’s teeth and his nails.

Rick reaches down to Daryl’s stomach and puts his hand there, then starts raking his nails up Daryl’s chest. Daryl moans loudly and arches up into Rick, bucking as best as he can. Rick pulls off and throws his head back in a moan and Daryl suddenly wishes he had teeth like Rick, so he could sink them into the pretty veins that are showing as Rick arches his neck up to the ceiling. But then Rick looks down at him, all panting and wanting, and Daryl has a better use for his mouth. He gathers all his energy and throws his hips upward and watches as Rick cries out, his body bucking and rolling with the thrust. “Kiss me,” Daryl says and then Rick whimpers and nods, leans down and dives his tongue right in and their teeth clack, it’s so hard, but it’s just what Daryl wants and Rick’s body is right there--all muscle and angles and grace and honesty and Daryl is within it and he tugs at the tie again and bucks up the same as before, hard and rough and then again and again and he listens to the little gasps that Rick cries into his mouth and then he’s coming, hard and fast and  _up,_  just like Rick wanted and he opens his eyes to watch Rick’s hitching body as Rick comes, too, and he feels it hot and wet against his chest and Rick is shaking with the force of all of it and clinging to him and Daryl will never, ever get tired of this view, never let the image of Rick’s eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth open and rattling out Daryl’s name leave his brain.

Daryl moans rough and hard and says again, “kiss me.” And then Rick is and they are riding the aftershocks out together, kissing and sliding their bodies together, ignoring the blood and come and sweat on their bodies.

Daryl notes, as if from far away, that Rick is still shaking and it’s not just from his body’s exertion. “You,” Rick tells him and reaches down, runs his fingers over Daryl’s chin and neck, light as clouds, “you’re my world.” He kisses Daryl softly this time and reaches up to undo the tie. Daryl’s hands fall free and they immediately go to Rick’s neck, angling the kiss so it’s deep and soft this time. Daryl melts into Rick and Rick falls into him and they lose track of time as they lay there, their lips meeting softly in the lowlight of the bedroom.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Daryl tells him and Rick shakes his head.

“I won’t,” he says. “I won’t,” he whispers again. “It’s the worst thing I could ever do.”

Rick pulls out and collapses onto his chest and Daryl gathers him up roughly. They lay there as the sunlight begins to pour in, signalling day, and Daryl thinks that if this could be every morning for the rest of his life, he would never want for anything else.

***

Daryl wakes to eyes as blue and clear and bright as a winter sky. But this time there’s no guilt hidden behind them, no timid hesitation. This time they’re smiling at him, all wide and open and so Daryl must look like a fool with the way he’s smiling back. Daryl watches Rick bite his lip and then chuckle softly for who knows what reason, but it doesn’t matter, because that sound warrants a kiss and so Daryl leans forward and kisses him and marvels at how complex they can tangle their bodies together, rolling around in the sheets that whisper against their naked skin.

Rick laughs up at him and starts purring. He kisses Daryl’s nose and Daryl chuckles back and kisses the corner of Rick’s mouth and then they get into some kind of kissing war that Daryl just wants to fucking  _lose,_  but the sun is pouring in and--to be frankly honest--they’re starting to smell. Daryl rolls out of bed and stretches and then offers Rick a hand. Rick is sun-weak by now, so Daryl has to help him stand and hold an arm around his waist while they walk to the bathroom. Rick asks him quietly if he has to work and Daryl shakes his head and couldn’t be any happier that this is his day off. He pours Rick into the shower and sets him against the corner so he has some support. And then Daryl gets in, lets Rick lean up against him for a kind of necessity that changes to lover’s touches and Daryl loses himself in the fucking joy he gets out of shampooing Rick’s curls, out of listening to him groan when Daryl too enthusiastically washes his cock.

But Rick is bone weary and so Daryl stops playing, finishes quickly and dries him, sits him on the toilet while Daryl finishes drying and dressing. He goes to the living room and brings Rick back a set of clothes from his suitcase and they get him into them with minimal effort. Daryl takes him to the kitchen, walking him there, and wonders just how light Rick  _really_ is and if he could just pick him up. But that’s for another time.

Daryl sets him in the kitchen chair and watches as Rick droops into it, his body running on fumes, but his mouth still smiling like he’s won the lottery. Daryl can’t help smiling back, but as he does so, he sets about the kitchen on a mission.

“What are you doing?” Rick asks him and leans his hand on the table, propping his chin in it.

Daryl smiles at him. “Thought I’d try an experiment. Since I’m home and all and if it goes to shit, I’m here to fix it.” He pulls out a blender that he and Merle never use and sits t on the table, stretching the cord to plug it into the wall.

“What experiment is that?” Rick asks.

Daryl leans over and kisses him softly, letting his hand touch damp curls. “I’m going to make you breakfast,” he says and holds Rick’s chin in place while he gives it one more tiny peck.

“Breakfast?” Rick asks and looks pointedly at Daryl’s neck.

“Yeah,” Daryl says, “but not that kind.” He walks to the pantry and rummages in it until he pulls out some ingredients that might work. He pours a can of V8 into the blender, along with two of Merle’s five-hour energies--good for keeping your junk up, Merle told him. He pours in a little sugar, too, hoping it might cut the taste and then he holds out his wrist to Rick. “Bite it,” he tells him.

Rick arches his eyebrow at the concoction and looks up at Daryl. “Wait...what are you doing?”

“Gonna add blood,” Daryl says.

“To  _that,_ ” Rick asks and points in mild disgust. “You expect me to drink that?”

Daryl shrugs. “Figure that Vitamin B and sugar and all that shit are supposed to do the same things to you that the medicine was. Only this isn’t as intense, so it might give you a bit of energy without the stomach growling. Thought we’d splash some blood in there to cut the hunger, though. You up for it?”

Rick looks at the blender with  _heavy_ hesitation, but he finally nods. “What the hell? I guess we can try.” He leans over and bites at Daryl’s wrist and keeps his mouth there a little too long, sucking and looking up at Daryl with twinkling violet irises. Daryl grins at him and lets him for a minute before he starts shoving.

“Okay, Piggy McGee,” he says and pulls his wrist away, holds it over the blender and squeezes so that a decent trail of blood comes out. He holds it there and talks while he gets the amount he wants. “Thought that maybe after this we could go out. I mean, if you’re energetic enough.”

“In the  _day?_ ” Rick asks. “With the sun?”

Daryl shrugs. “Could hit up Walmart. I’m getting low on groceries and shit and I figured that maybe you could pick out what you wanted if you hate V8 and a cup of sugar.”

Rick smiles. “Walmart?” he says and then looks way too excited, like a kid who’s just learned he can go to Disney World. “ _Walmart?_  You’ll take me to  _Walmart?_ ”

Daryl laughs. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “We can go grocery shopping. Woo.”

Rick blushes and ducks his head. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s so stupid, right? I would have weaseled my way out of it as fast as I could have a year ago. But now...it’s been  _six months_. And…” his blush gets redder, “I want to go to Walmart.”

Daryl smiles so hard it hurts and then leans over at an awkward angle to kiss Rick while he’s still holding his wrist over the blender. “We’ll go, baby, promise.” He pulls his wrist away and lets Rick lick it. “But first, you’re going to drink this thing.” He snaps the lid on the blender and presses high and watches as it all mixes together.

***

Daryl settles into the driver’s seat and watches as Rick climbs in the car with his big aviators on and a green metal water bottle filled with the vile liquid Daryl had created for him. “It’s the sugar,” Rick had told him earlier. “You should  _not_ have added the sugar.” He’s already doing noticeably better, Daryl notes, even after his first cup and just half an hour to set in. While Daryl doesn’t think he’s going to run a marathon anytime soon, he’s at least able to walk on his own and seems able to fulfill basic functions like opening doors and picking up household objects.

Rick tips the bottle up again and takes another swallow. “We’ve got to make something better than this,” he says and eyes the green bottle warily. “But I think it might work. I mean, we’ll see. But so far, I feel pretty good.”

Daryl nods. “That’s the goal,” he says and heads off in the direction of the local Walmart. “So I figure we need to buy some basic things like whatever you want to put in your new smoothie. Thought maybe some B12 vitamins or something might help out, too. And then, I don’t know. What else do you want?”

Rick blushes and looks over at Daryl and Daryl can’t see his eyes, but he can guess what they look like--half-lidded and on fire. “Forty eight hours with just you and me and a bottle of lube?” Rick says and Daryl laughs.

“Okay, but for  _real,_ ” he asks.

Rick shrugs and sits back in the truck. “Don’t know. I got enough clothes to be okay and I got all the basic personal items I need. I have another four days until I go back to work--Lori forced me to take a week off to ‘get better’--but after that’s up, I’ll need some things.” He looks at the bottle. “Like maybe more to go containers.”

Daryl grunts. “Was thinkin’ of maybe swinging by one or two of these medical supply discount stores, too. I mean, might be easier to get this going the real way. You know? IVs and bags and shit. Could throw some in the fridge for you and you could be my live-in Spike.”

Rick blinks. “Did you just make a Buffy reference at me?”

Daryl smiles. “What? Offended?”

Rick shakes his head and looks out the window, grinning from ear-to-ear. “I guess you could interpret that as pretty racist, Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl laughs and reaches over, threads his fingers in Rick’s curls and leaves his hand at the back of Rick’s head. He drives as far as he can with one hand before having to slowly pull his fingers back to the steering wheel. “Well, I gotta go back to work tomorrow, so we’ll make sure to have everything you need to make it on your own.” 

Rick nods and they pull into the grocery store parking lot, Daryl getting the truck as close to the entrance as he can so that Rick doesn’t have to walk very far in the sun. “How are your eyes?” he asks Rick, just to make sure.

“Fine,” Rick says and gets out of the truck. Daryl follows him and they make it inside without blindness or any of those bad side-effects like smoke and brimstone that the movies tell you will happen. Daryl gets a cart and leans down on it, resting his elbows on the blue bar and he watches as Rick puts the sunglasses on top of his head and blinks at the heavy fluorescent lighting. Rick’s eyes are wide and as soon as they enter the store, he’s soaking up everything, jerking his head left and right like he wants to look at all of it at once.

Daryl grins and just watches him. Rick clutches the green bottle of Daryl’s blood and V8 in his hand and walks quickly over to the mountains of sale and special items lined up just inside the doorway. He grabs a box and swings around to face Daryl, his smile plastered on like it was chiseled there. “ _Juice Boxes_ ,” Rick says and Daryl laughs. Rick hears it and throws the box in the cart and proceeds to smack Daryl’s shoulder. “Shut up, alright? I like them. A lot better than  _V8._ ”

“Alright, alright,” Daryl says, “I won’t make fun of your juice boxes.”

Rick gives him a wary glance. “You’re going to crack a joke everytime we blend them in, aren’t you?”

Daryl nods. “Oh, hell, yes,” he says and pushes the cart along. Rick is flabbergasted with all the items in the store, so Daryl follows along behind Rick, letting him go where he wants to. They look at the cameras and the new movies and then at the furniture and picture frames. Rick even stops at the plastic flowers and points like they’re some special kind of imported jewel that he’s never seen in real life. Daryl just smiles and nods at him and pushes the cart through the card section, the pillow section (where Rick actually DOES buy something) and the paint section. Rick is so enamored with everything that shines in its glistening plastic packaging that he doesn’t notice them passing by a rack of meditation and white noise CDs. Daryl takes the opportunity to swipe one from the stack--a “sounds of the forest” mix for those times that he has to be at work and Rick is stuck in the house.

They get to the pet supplies and Rick pauses at an end cap, reaching out to touch a bag of bird seed. He turns toward Daryl. “We had a bird house,” he says. “This is the brand I bought, too. Always kept it fully stocked.” His smile falters. “I haven’t put anything in it since last fall and Lori keeps forgetting.” He sighs. “We had these little birds. Warblers. Think they were called yellow-rumped. They had these yellow butts and then these armpits.” He gestures to his side. “Bright yellow. And they loved this stuff. And then, of course, there were sparrows and robins and chickadees, too. The usual stuff. A couple bluebirds every once in awhile. It’s stupid, right?” He shakes his head. “I always complained about that damn thing and now I miss it.”

Daryl reaches out and grabs his hand, pulls Rick toward him so that Rick is leaning against the side of the cart, perpendicular to Daryl. “I’ll build you one if you want. Stick it right in the front yard.” He smiles. “And then we can get robins and bluebirds and maybe some armpit warblers.”

Rick chuckles and then looks around them quickly, sees that they’re mostly alone for a weekday afternoon, and leans up, putting his lips against Daryl’s feathery soft and smooth. Daryl smiles against his mouth and marvels at how the tilt of Rick’s lips meet his. He puts his hand on the back of Rick’s neck and moves his lips, not going deeper so that he can let it be sweet and chaste. They pull away and Rick smiles, brings the bottle he’s still holding up to his mouth and drinks. “Still tastes like whiskey,” he tells Daryl. “Only you threw some onion powder and thyme in there, too. And also, let’s not forget,  _a buttload of sugar_.”

Daryl smiles and just shrugs. “I tried,” he said, “but how about we head over to the groceries? Get something that you’ll like?”

Rick nods and they make they make their way to the market section, getting more 5-hour energy and also a crapton of orange juice and cranberry juice. Rick also gets some powdered protein mixes for smoothies and even throws in some kale and spinach. Daryl goes along behind him and grabs things he needs for himself, the kind of quick meals he always gets when Merle isn’t around--a mix of soups and TV dinners and microwaveable nuggets. Soon, they get to the checkout line and Daryl is happy that it’s a weekday and he doesn’t have to worry about long lines. They check out and Daryl drives the cart away, but right before he gets to the main doors, he stops across from the optometry center. He frowns.

Rick stops a little bit ahead of him and turns around, furrowing his brow. “Daryl?” he asks, but Daryl turns the cart and wheels it to the center, stopping it at the threshold and leaving it there as he walks in and up to a pretty blonde girl in a white jacket.

“Hey,” he says, “got a question.” Rick comes up behind him and stays back a little, watching Daryl and the girl.

“Yes,” she says and smiles. “What can I help you with? Are you looking for new glasses today or do you want to do an exam?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Got a question about contacts. Can you make shaded lenses? Like sunglasses, only in contact form? Is that even a thing?” Rick steps up to him and blinks. Daryl turns his head slightly and smiles at him.

  
The girl blinks at Daryl. “Um...I guess I honestly don’t know. Hold on a second. Linda!” She turns and walks up a lady manning a cash register. Daryl watches them converse and then Linda comes over at him, smiling just as bright as the blonde.

“Shaded contacts, huh?” Linda says. “We don’t get too many questions about that, but we do have access to ordering them. Do you want to fill out an order? Do you know your prescription?”

Daryl shakes his head. “For him,” he says and gestures to Rick.

Rick blinks. “Oh. Yeah. I have really bad light sensitivity.” He pulls off the sunglasses on the top of his head and shrugs.

“Well,” Linda says, “we can order them if you know the prescription.”

Rick shakes his head. “Don’t have one. 20/20.”

Linda frowns and looks between the two of them. “You sure your current sunglasses wouldn’t just be okay? I mean contacts are expensive. Much more expensive than the $5 rack of sunglasses we have in the corner.”

Rick looks at Daryl and so Daryl speaks for him. “Kind of a convenience thing, since he needs them all the time. You can make them 20/20?”

“Oh, sure,” Linda says, “but we’re talking about a hundred per set. Do you still want to order them?”

Daryl looks over at Rick and Rick looks between Daryl and Linda. He nods firmly. “Hell yes,” he says.

***

Rick is practically bouncing by the time they get home. They had to stay at the optometrist a little longer than anticipated as Rick had to get his eyes measured for contacts, but they still managed to leave within a half hour. By the time they get through the door, Rick has finally downed the nasty mixer that Daryl made him this morning and he skips into the kitchen eager to begin experimenting. Daryl sits at the counter and just watches him as he floats around the room, exploring the different drawers and cabinets, looking for things like spoons and salt. Daryl smiles as he watches Rick, basking in the domesticity of it all and in the fact that Rick is energetic enough to slide around the kitchen and to kiss Daryl occasionally, smiling down at him with a teasing and flirty little look.

Daryl loves it. He loves Rick like this. He thinks of tigers playing in water, of bobcats as they tussle together, of lions as they play with sticks and rocks and feathers. He realizes that he might be one of the few people out there that have seen Rick like this. And he’s sure as hell that he’s the only one that seens Rick’s eyes mold into violet when he gets flirty, switch into red when it’s about hunger or sex. He smiles as he watches him, fascinated with his eyes as they morph through the three colors, switching as easily as notes on a guitar.

“Like watching your eyes,” he tells Rick.

Rick chuckles and looks down at him as he adds juice to the blender. “Why?” he asks.

“Cause you’re an open book,” Daryl says and licks his lips, watching as Rick’s eyes flash red and then blue.

Rick gives him a confused look. “What do you mean?” he says.

“Mean the color,” Daryl says and shrugs.

“The color?” Rick asks again.

“Yeah,” Daryl says. “You’ve seen it, I’m sure. Red: hungry. Blue: calm. Violet in between.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve seen it,” Rick says. “I mean, when the teeth come out, then the red does. Right?”

Daryl arches an eyebrow. “More complicated than that,” he says. “They do this flashing thing now.”

Rick leans his head back and furrows his brow. “Flashing thing?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says and then gets an idea. “Let me show you.” He grabs Rick’s hand and threads his fingers in his and then can’t help himself. He leans up and kisses Rick’s knuckles and watches the smile break across Rick’s face like the light of day. Daryl leans forward and gives him a short, sweet peck before he drags Rick to the bathroom mirror, letting the sound of Rick’s soft purring be the only noise in the house.

He sets Rick right in front of the mirror and stands behind him. “Watch,” he says. “Blue.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “I know my eyes are  _blue,_  Daryl.”

Daryl grins and then puts his hands on Rick’s shoulders. He leans in and licks a stripe up Rick’s neck and when he gets to his earlobe, he tugs on it with his teeth. He listens as the purr turns into a cascading rumble and watches Rick’s eyes flash in the mirror, the irises skipping over purple to blood red. Rick gasps and then blinks at his reflection.

“ _Red,_ ” Daryl says and steps back.

Rick swings to him and his eyes are wide. “I didn’t know I could do that,” he says.

Daryl grins. “They go violet when you’re being a flirt,” he says and chuckles. “See how much I’m teaching you?”

Rick bites his lip and looks back at his reflection. “You think it’s a good thing?” he asks.

Daryl walks up behind him and wraps Rick up to him, lets Rick’s body sink into his chest. He puts his nose in the back of Rick’s hair and breathes in his scent--cypress, just like Daryl’s shampoo. He leans down and kisses the back of Rick’s neck and watches in the mirror as Rick’s eyes close and then open again heavily. “I think that you and the vampire aren’t so different now,” he says. “You’re less like two people and more like one person who’s found themselves. So yeah. That’s better, isn’t it?”

Rick doesn’t say anything, but he looks in the mirror at his blue eyes and after a second, they ooze violet from the edges and then the red comes in like smoke to settle on his irises. “I can control it,” Rick whispers, his voice low, but somehow heavy with disbelief and surprise.

“Yeah,” Daryl says and kisses the side of his head. “You can.”

“Cause of you,” Rick says and half turns his head so he can see Daryl. Daryl turns him then, rotates Rick’s body in his arms so that he can make full eye contact with him.

“I didn’t do anything but let you free,” Daryl says and puts his hands up on either side or Rick’s neck. He leans in. “I didn’t do anything but just hope and pray that you understood how beautiful you are. Because I see it.”

Rick blinks up at him and Daryl’s not sure if there’s water there or if it’s from the brightness of the bathroom lights. But then Rick is nodding, his face just an inch from Daryl’s and he says softly. “I do. I do see it.” And then they’re kissing, molding together like snow falling on ice, little crystals sticking to the surface of each other--Daryl’s cells transferring to Rick and then back again, his body becoming Rick’s in the purest sense. Rick kisses like his life depends on it, like Daryl is the only thing keeping him alive and Daryl meets him inch for inch, wants him to know that he’ll do anything for Rick, that they’ve surpassed a point where Daryl can’t imagine himself without him.

Daryl pulls away slowly to ask, “You said on the creek bank...you said that the vampire loved me. Like I was its mate or something.”

“Oh god,” Rick says and blushes deep red, “are we talking about soul mates?”

“I feel like you’re mine,” Daryl says and has to blink hard with the force of his own words.

Rick looks up at him, swallowing hard and then he’s nodding over and over. “Yes,” he says and kisses Daryl. “Yes, yes,  _yes._ ” He clings to Daryl so hard Daryl is worried about scratches and bruises, but he couldn’t care less in the moment. “It’s like,” Rick says, “you walked into my life and it was just static. Just white noise on the radio. And it’s like suddenly I could hear voices. I was so  _alone_ and I didn’t even know that I  _was._  All my life I’ve been living like I wanted to  _get by_. Like I wanted to have an  _average_ life and I saw you that first night and I didn’t want average, anymore. I’m sick of average. I want---”

“Spectacular?” Daryl finishes for him and Rick nods. “Me, too,” he says. “I just…” He shrugs. “Got a job so I could have an okay house. Got an okay truck. Got an okay set of friends and an okay Saturday afternoon. But...it’s not enough for me. I want  _great._ ”

“And I’m great?” Rick asks.

  
Daryl nods. “Yeah,” he says and ducks his head. “Yeah, you are. Knew it, too. That  _first look_. Knew it. Knew you. Inside and out.”

“Me, too,” Rick says and runs his fingers through Daryl’s hair. “You asked me last night to fuck you,” Rick says. “And I didn’t.” He bites his lip. “Kind of want to now. Except...maybe I could make love to you?” He flutters his eyelashes and Daryl is  _lost._  All he can do is nod and keep nodding and move his lips as Rick sweeps in to kiss him, move his feet back as Rick guides him to the bedroom, move his hands where Rick places them, dip and arch where the curves and planes of his body need Daryl to fit.

Rick leads him through the bedroom and pours him down onto the bed and crawls over him and Daryl is struck by how soft he is, how his touch is like the whisper of clouds and his kiss is like fog rolling off the river--so slow and subtle you don’t even realize what’s happening until it’s almost over. Daryl kisses him back just as softly, wills himself to be the sun rising, the feather falling on the wind, the light steps of cats across the cool forest ground. Daryl whispers Rick’s name and lets the syllable settle in around his veins, course through his body like the first sip of an ice cold drink in the summer. Above him, Rick gasps and Daryl knows that he’s caught him, that he has him, that this is his little lion. His little bobcat. So he says so, whispers the words against Rick’s lips and closes his eyes at the way Rick’s mouth feels on his.

Rick runs a hand under Daryl’s shirt and Daryl’s skin bursts with energy at the contact. He moans softly and Rick leans down to catch the sound as it leaves his mouth and Daryl wants nothing else in the world but for Rick to catch all of him, to take all of him, to pull Daryl into himself so that Daryl is warm and happy and safe and present.

Daryl leans up and whips his shirt off and it gives Rick enough time to do the same and then they are back to kissing, chest to chest, but it’s not enough. No, Daryl needs all of it gone. He needs to feel every inch of Rick like he’s De Soto and Rick is the Mississippi. So he pushes Rick off gently and they fumble with buttons and belts and zippers. As Daryl finishes undressing himself, Rick kicks off his pants and reaches into the nightstand, pulls out the bottle from last night and covers Daryl again, kisses him so achingly thoroughly that Daryl feels he might break with the emotional tsunami of it.

But then Rick’s fingers are there, slowly sliding up in him and Rick’s tongue is meeting his in some kind of dance that is all just them--just a rhythm they have created together that is natural and loose and freeing. Rick puts his hand on the side of Daryl’s neck and Daryl sighs and leans into the touch and Rick swallows his sigh down in his own mouth. “Love me?” Daryl asks against his lips and Rick nods.

“I do,” he says and slides his lips over Daryl’s, whispering against them, “I do.”

Rick adds a second finger and Daryl lifts his hips up into the warmth of Rick’s body and then down onto his fingers. Daryl slides his arms around Rick and sets one hand on Rick’s lower back while threading the other in the back of his curls. Daryl throws his head back and moans softly to the room, wraps one leg around Rick’s waist and says to him, “Please.”

Rick nods and then he finishes preparing Daryl and guides himself up inside Daryl’s body. Daryl falls apart for him, accepts him as easy as the sky accepts the sun, and then they are rocking together, Rick setting the rhythm slow and deep. Daryl reaches for him, but Rick is already halfway there and they are kissing again, their lips and tongues moving on instinct for one another.

Rick runs his hand up Daryl’s side and then touches his neck ever so softly. “I love you,” he whispers and Daryl blinks up into a blue that could never be described with mundane things like aquamarine and rivers, like oceans and turquoise.

“Let me see your colors,” he asks Rick and watches as Rick shifts them on cue--brilliant blue to passionate red to the violet that is everything in between, everything that is  _Rick._

Daryl wraps his legs around Rick’s back and arches for him, falling into Rick’s rhythm. Rick leans over him and kisses the hollow of his throat, drags his tongue up Daryl’s neck and chin until he can kiss him thoroughly again. He reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Daryl’s length and Daryl gasps at the feel of it, as steady as Daryl’s pounding heartbeat, as liquid as his muscles as they threaten to collapse. Rick begins to stroke him and Daryl sighs up at him, ending the sound in a breathless moan. “I’m yours,” he tells Rick and leans up to meet his descending mouth.

Daryl feels his body tightening, feels the sensational energies of Rick shooting across his skin and leaving little goosebump bullets behind. He knows he can’t last very long with the  _feel_ of all of it--with Rick deep inside him,fitting him like a puzzle piece he lost under the sofa years ago. He knows that there’s nothing he can do against the torrents of it--against Rick’s eyes and his lips, the perfect fit of his hips against Daryl’s groin, his chest pressed to Daryl’s. “I can’t…” Daryl tells him and gasps and Rick leans over him, puts his hand so lightly on Daryl’s neck.

“Ssssh,” he says to Daryl and kisses the corner of his mouth, “I know. So come for me, baby. Just let go and be mine.”

Daryl gasps and he nods, lets Rick wash over him like the ocean tide. He gives his body over to Rick, over to the feeling of Rick’s fingertips as they hold him heavy in his hand, over to the feeling of Rick’s mouth sliding against his skin as Rick kisses his neck, over to the feeling of all those strange things that people don’t think about--the grazing of the smooth skin on Rick’s wrists, the feeling of his back muscles as he thrusts, the way Daryl can watch his shoulders tighten and release at his motions.

Daryl hitches up, holds on for as long as he can, staring up into Rick’s eyes. Rick slides his fingers over Daryl’s cheek and he flashes his eyes violet and Daryl comes as he sees the purple reside there--all the mixed up things of wild Rick and calm Rick, Rick the vampire and Rick the human, Rick with red-eyed hunger who loves him, Rick with blue-eyed trust who loves him, too.

Rick keeps thrusting as Daryl comes, lets Daryl keep losing himself in that rhythm and even after, he keeps going until Daryl realizes he hasn’t finished yet. Daryl opens his mouth to ask, but Rick shakes his head and kisses him. “Was waiting for you,” Rick says and smiles. And then he’s speeding up within Daryl and Daryl closes his eyes so that he can just kiss Rick and loses himself in the feel of Rick deep within his body, claiming him. Rick lets out a little sound and tenses and Daryl realizes he’s coming before it’s even happening and he wraps Rick up as tight as he can, pulls Rick to him and holds him there as Rick finishes deep inside, completing him. Completing  _both_ of them.

Rick rides it out as fully as he can and Daryl whimpers as his thrusts get smaller and smaller and then stop. Rick pulls out slowly and Daryl clutches at him to come back, but Rick leaves only long enough to rearrange the covers and pull them over their bodies. Daryl snuggles up into Rick and breathes him in, sighs happily at how his body curves to Rick again like it knows exactly where to be. “I love you,” Daryl says to Rick’s chest and curses the words for not being able to carry the  _power_ of his feelings.

But Rick nods and leans down, kisses Daryl’s head, and says, “I love you, too,” in the same exact tone. Like he knows  _exactly_ what Daryl means, like he knows  _exactly_ what Daryl feels. Rick puts his fingers on the edge of Daryl’s hairline and slides his hand into Daryl’s hair and he starts to slowly purr into the quiet bedroom. Daryl sighs happily and snuggles further into Rick’s chest, thinking about this day is damn near perfect.

***

The next morning, Daryl wakes to an empty room, but to the sound of pans rustling in the kitchen and the faint smell of bacon. He drags himself out of bed and down the hallway and knows he must look a mess with his hair in fifteen billion directions and the loose tank top and boxers hanging off his frame. He leans in the doorway to the kitchen and smiles at Rick as Rick flips the bacon pieces in the pan and then moves to stir a skillet of eggs.

The sounds of the forest CD is still going in the bedroom and Daryl can hear it only faintly from where he put it in last night as they arranged themselves for bed, Rick grinning like a fool at the noise of rustling leaves and babbling creeks. All in all, Daryl thinks, the moment is perfect and so he slides across the tile floor and up to Rick, putting his arms around Rick’s waist as Rick stirs the eggs. Rick chuckles and Daryl loves the sound, so he bends down to kiss Rick’s shoulder and then keeps on kissing.

Rick shoves him away playfully. “Need a shower,” he says, “if you’re going to work.”

  
Daryl groans at the thought of work. “Would call in sick,” he says and kisses the back of Rick’s head, “but Clint might kill me after missing on account of jail.”

Rick smiles at him over his shoulder. “Should stop hanging out with your brother, then.”

Daryl shrugs. “Eh, it’s Merle. You’ll understand once he gets out. You get to live with him now, after all.” Daryl smiles and then leans forward and kisses Rick.

Rick grins at him. “Go get a shower,” he says, “and make it quick before your eggs are done.”

“Yes, sir,” Daryl says and runs off.

When he comes out, Rick has a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast laid out for him, with a glass of orange juice on the side. He’s currently fiddling with the blender and carefully pouring in the first bag of blood they collected last night from Daryl.

“We’re a weird little couple, aren’t we?” Daryl asks and then plops down, proceeding to devour his breakfast.

Rick shrugs and looks over at him. “Comes with the territory, I guess.” He pops the blender top on and hits the mix button, watches it spin and stir.

“You gonna have everything you need?” Daryl asks. “For me to leave for work, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Rick says and gestures to the blender. “Got all I need right there. Seems to keep me energetic enough if I make sure to snack.” He stops the blender and proceeds to fill the bottles he has lined out on the table.

Daryl grunts. “Get off at six,” he says again, just to make sure Rick knows, “but you’ll call me if you need anything?”

Rick nods. “Yeah. Of course. And I…” he frowns and then picks up two of the bottles, puts them in the fridge and then sits down with the third. He clears his throat. “I’m going to go back to the house, I think. Get some stuff I need that I didn’t take with me. And, um...pick up my badge.” He pauses and scratches his chin. “Gun, too.”

Daryl pauses only a millisecond between chewing and then he tells his head to nod and thinks about how weird the motion seems when his body just wants to seize up.

“I’m not going to…” Rick starts and trails off, frowns harder. He scratches the back of his head and sighs. “Nothin’s gonna happen. Can guarantee it.”

Daryl nods again, because it seems like all he can do.

“What you said to me,” Rick says and bites his lip, “before. About deserving only the ground and about you not loving me...you meant it. I don’t have to ask. I know you did.” He taps at the side of the bottle on the table. “That’s the worst thing I could imagine,” he tells Daryl and looks up at him, bright blue eyes glinting. “And I couldn’t...even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. And I don’t. It’s like that old house is a graveyard or something. It’s like Lori and everything...like my old life was just pushing at me and enclosing me and I don’t feel like that here. I don’t feel even the slightest shred of it.”

Daryl looks down at a flabby piece of bacon and pushes it around with his fork. “Cause you like yourself here.”

Rick nods. “Yeah.” He nods again, for good measure. “And I’m not going to let that house take me down. I’m not going to let the last six months be it. So I’m going to go get everything I need out of there today and then I’m _done_ with it. I promise.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Don’t have to make promises to me, baby,” he says and lifts his hand, puts his fingers under Rick’s chin. “Make ‘em to yourself.” He shrugs. “Practically the same thing anyway.”

Rick smiles and nods, dips his head to kiss the tips of Daryl’s fingers. “I’ll call you. If  _anything_ upsets me.”

Daryl nods. “You got it.” He stands and leans over, kisses Rick quickly and nods. “Going, then. You get a cab over there?”

Rick nods. “Yeah, that’s what I was planning.”

“Alright then,” Daryl says, “going to take my truck.” He heads to the front door, but he pauses right before he turns the handle. “Love you,” he says and marvels at the fact that he now has a guy at home he can  _say that to_ when he leaves for work.

Rick smiles as bright and big as the Georgia sky and blows a dramatic kiss Daryl’s way. “Love you, too,” he says and you couldn’t wipe the grin off of Daryl’s face with a Magic Eraser.

***

Daryl spends the day at work alternatively filing, checking his phone, and cursing Clint for the extra shift on desk duty just because the paperwork is piling up and the other guys “don’t wanna.” But Daryl doesn’t spend too much time outwardly complaining because he likes his job and he figures that he owes Clint a couple of things.

So he props his feet up under the desk and kicks back in the reception chair, thinking about the different shapes Rick makes with his eyes and how he could properly catalogue them. The day goes by  _slow,_  because Daryl would rather be in bed with Rick or maybe even not in bed. Maybe just doing something stupid like watching  _Mean Girls_  or the  _Dirty Jobs_  marathon.

But eventually lunch does come and Daryl breathes a sigh of relief that he can at least get  _out_ of this place and go find Rick. But as he stands to leave, handing the desk over to Tony, Rick walks in the door, a brown bag in one hand and a flush creeping up his neck.

“Hey,” Rick says, his voice wavering with nervousness.

“Hey,” Daryl says and puts his hands in his pockets like a damn schoolboy.

In the receptionist chair, Tony snickers. Daryl shoots him a hard look and Tony laughs again. “Your wife bring you something something?” Tony asks.

Daryl rolls his eyes and stomps over to the break room, opens the door and gestures inside for RIck. “Ignore Tony,” he tells him, “he’s nothing but a  _dick nozzle_.”

Tony laughs, tells them to “have fun” and pulls up solitaire on the work computer. Rick slides in through the door to the empty breakroom and sits down.

“Should I have stayed home?” he asks Daryl, but Daryl shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says and grabs a chair, flips it around so that he can sit on it backwards, “Tony’s a good guy. Got a mouth, but most of the shits I know do.” He smiles slowly. “So whatcha doin’, Dick?” he asks.

Rick breaks out into a grin and shakes his head at the nickname. “Figured I’d bring you lunch,” he says and holds out the bag. “Least I could do.”

Daryl smiles. “Well, aren’t you just the little chef. Two meals in one day, huh?”

“You’ve earned it for everything you’ve done for me,” Rick says and then pulls one of his own bottles out of the bag, tips it up and starts drinking. “‘Sides,” he says and looks off into the corner of the room, “wanted to see you.”

Daryl grins and pulls out the contents of the bag, a BLT and a sack of chips, and starts eating. “Wanted to see you, too,” he says. “Thought I might drive on home, but I didn’t have to.”

Rick ducks his head a little and looks at Daryl. He bites his lip through a smile. “So I didn’t interrupt you at work?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Not at all, baby. I would rather have you here than not.”

They fall into idle chatter as Daryl eats, talking about sports and hunting and about how when Rick gets his contacts they should go fishing. They talk about what a pain Merle is going to be and about how Rick probably shouldn’t go snooping in the man’s room if he wants to uphold his police honor. They talk about getting a house of their own. They talk about the future and days with a white picket fence, nights with the wild woods and the cries of coyotes.

Eventually, Daryl asks him if he went back to his old house.

“Yep,” Rick says and nods. “Even stopped by the station to give them an update. Figure the more they see me being ‘well,’ the more likely I can keep my job.”

“Go good?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah, fine,” Rick says. “Everything’s good, actually. Job’s fine, you’re fine. Getting the contacts in a week, so that’s fine. Figure I’ll get everything else outlined as I go--like what to do with the house and splitting up the bank accounts and all that.” He frowns. “Just one thing I need, I guess, to feel good and settled.”

Daryl grunts and pops a chip in his mouth. “Carl?” he asks.

“Lori,” Rick says. “I got to talk to her. About Carl. And to apologize, too.”

“You gonna go find her this afternoon?”

Rick widens his eyes and shakes his head. “No. Hell no. Not today. I mean, I’ll call her I guess. But I want…” He looks up at Daryl under his eyelashes. “Want you to be there.”

Daryl pauses as he eats and shrugs slightly, just a little hiccup of his shoulders. “Thought that’s what got me in trouble last time.”

“Well, what got ME in trouble last time,” Rick says, “is being alone with her.”

Daryl shrugs again. “I’ll do what you want,” he says because he feels that’s safest.

“What I want,” Rick tells him, “is to never be alone with Lori ever again.  _Ever._  I said what I had to say to her. We hashed it out and we yelled at each other and so that’s good. It’s out of my system.” He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, leans his clasped hands together and puts one knuckle in his mouth. “And I’m sure the divorce and the lawyers that I gotta get are going to help out that part of it, too. But I got to meet her. I have to talk to her and show her that I’m doing okay. That I can be trusted with Carl and that I’m healthy again. And to do that, I need to show her you. I need her to see  _us._ ” He pauses and chews on his knuckle and then looks at Daryl shyly. “Because I’m best when it’s us.”

Daryl reaches over and takes his hand, threads their fingers together and nods. “Okay, baby,” he says and squeezes Rick’s hand. “Then I’ll be right there with you. Right by your side.”

Rick smiles and squeezes his hand back. “Think I’ll call her and try to do it tomorrow. And I want...I want us to be  _us._  She’s going to have to get used to it, anyway. I want to show her what I’m  _like._  She hasn’t seen what I’m like. Ever. Not since the vampire, at least. She’s never seen  _this_ me.”

“Okay,” Daryl says and rubs his thumb over Rick’s hand, “then we’ll show her you.” He picks up one of his last chips and pops it into his mouth. “Tell me something happy before you leave, though. Cheer me up so I don’t think about your ex while you’re gone.”

  
Rick smiles slowly and leans over conspiratorily, squeezing Daryl’s hand again. “You have a nice butt,” he says and deliberately flashes his eyes red.

***

Daryl and Rick have a great evening together, spending most of the night outside by the creek again, repeating their first trip step for step. This time, though, Daryl is smart enough to not let himself be lured into brush and to be wary of treetops as much as ground. His strategy leads to a spectacular win and, despite the fact that Daryl won topping rights, he lets Rick cover him the same as before, inch for inch in all those good ways.

They walk along the creek, too, and listen to the water as it pours over rocks. But Daryl doesn’t have to be worried about timid Rick this time. Instead, he wraps his arms around Rick’s waist and walks along behind him, stumbling and awkward and laughing. They talk about nothing in particular--the stars, the birds, the water, how Rick wants to see a Braves game again, how Daryl wants to go deep sea fishing.

They are back at the house by midnight and they fall in bed together with the window open and Rick’s purring mixing with the sounds of the forest CD on low, curled up in each other like peanut butter and chocolate, like electrons and neutrons, like the sound of Rick’s breathing mingling with Daryl’s to create a kind of cadence that Daryl feels he could live by.

In the morning, they wake and Rick makes his smoothie while Daryl pours himself cereal. Rick calls Lori and they set up a dinner meeting for seven and Daryl grimaces because he’d much rather put it off, but he knows it has to be done. He kisses Rick goodbye and tells him he loves him, hears the sweet words repeated on Rick’s lips and then he heads to work and a day of rainy repair--back to the Petersons and  _no, Nathan, I still suggest you buy a new unit and I’m not trying to rip you off._

Daryl drives home for lunch this time and despite the fact that he ends up late back at work, he grabs a quickie with Rick on the living room floor, Rick’s teeth sunk into him deep like little drill bits. Afterwards, he basks in the feeling of Rick’s body, in the little noises he makes while Daryl kisses him, in the little gasps and sighs and purrs.

But then it’s back to work and air conditioners. And then it’s late afternoon and finishing up. And then it’s six and Daryl picks up Rick. And then it’s driving to Chili’s in awkward silence, neither one of them fully ready to face Lori.

Daryl pulls into the back of the parking lot and shuts off the truck. He makes no move to get out and Rick seems just as reluctant. Finally, Daryl clears his throat, turns slightly to Rick in the seat. “You ain’t leaving me for her,” he says and lets it be that perfect place between a statement and a question.

Rick looks at him, all blue eyes, and shakes his head. “Not leaving you,” he says, “not for anything.” He reaches over and grabs Daryl’s hand, squeezing. “You’re the only one that understands me. I’m yours.” He blushes. “Your little lion?”

Daryl smiles over at him and then reaches forward to the steering wheel, brushing a speck of dust off the cover. “My little bobcat,” Daryl says and then he kisses Rick’s hand and opens the door, waits for Rick to grab the bottle that’s always with him now and slide out.

Daryl sticks his hands far into his pockets and walks behind Rick, letting him lead the way to the hostess station. Rick walks up to the lady there and tells her that they’re with a group and she directs them to Lori. Rick nods and turns left into the dining area and Daryl follows along behind him.

Lori is sitting at a table by herself, her arms clutched around her chest, her purse still hanging on her shoulder. Daryl can see a large bandage taped around her neck and the muscles in her face are taunt, her fingernails digging into her own flesh, her eyes wide and reeling with fire and worry. She looks about two seconds from bolting or throwing a punch and Daryl can’t help but wonder why they are walking  _toward_ her and not far away.

Rick sits down in the chair opposite her and Lori turns away from him, refuses to look into his eyes. She pushes her body into the chair, the foot on her crossed leg pulling in and under the chair legs. She takes in a sharp breath.

“...hey, Lori,” Rick says awkwardly and puts his elbows on the table.

Daryl sits down beside Rick and sinks down as far as he can, letting his body go boneless in direct contrast to Lori’s rigidness.

“Hey,” Lori says softly and then turns her head, but still refuses to meet his eyes. “What is he doing here?”

“I told you he was coming,” Rick says. “We’re together now. I know you don’t like it. But he...he’s helped me. A lot. He’s helped me come to terms with the things that are happening to me.”

  
“I don’t want to talk about that,” she says, her voice sweet and smooth and tough as steel.

Rick blinks and Daryl watches him swallow, fidget with the salt shaker on the table. Daryl bites back any response he might have, trying to keep as close as he can to pure silence. Eventually, Rick gets up the nerve to say, “We have to.”

“No,” Lori says and finally snaps her gaze up. “We don’t.”

“We do,” Rick insists.

“I am not having that  _insane_ conversation in polite company, Rick.” She looks at Daryl. “Although, I guess the definition of ‘polite’ is pretty loose.”

“He’s a vampire,” Daryl says loudly and thinks  _shit, silence_. He snaps his mouth shut.

Rick looks over at Daryl and nods slowly. “Lori,” he says, “we have to acknowledge it. So we can get around it.”

“There is no getting around my husband,” she pauses and grates out, “ _ex-husband_ being a monster.”

“Not a monster,” Daryl says, “a vampire.” Fuck. SILENCE.

“A  _monster,_ ” Lori insists. “He did this to me,” she says and points at her neck, as if Daryl couldn’t tell. He wonders if a little bandaid would work and if she really needed the three-inch-by-three-inch covering.

“God, lady, he’s done  _much_ more than that to me,” Daryl says and throws all caution to the wind. He leans forward. “Look, you may not understand it. You may not like it. And you may not even give one rat’s ass. But you should let the man talk.” 

Lori blinks and sits back in her chair, her body ramrod straight. She nods once in acknowledgement and waits for Rick.

Rick licks his lips. “I’m doing better,” he says and Lori opens her mouth to complain, but Rick talks over her. “I  _am._  No medicine or anything. I...before, I didn’t know what I was doing. I mean, before Daryl. I would bite people, Lori. Prisoners at the station. I would hurt them because I had to eat or I would become this animal and I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to injure someone permanently or, god I can’t even think about it,  _kill_ them. But I only let myself eat once a day and that made me weak. It made me sick, like the doctors thought I was. Only it wasn’t some weird disease. It was  _hunger._ ” He frowns. “And the medicine they put me on...it made me even hungrier, even if it did make me energetic. I called Daryl at the hospital and he came to help me. And I...Lori, I was ravenous. I was just...I attacked him. It was okay, but just barely. And so I knew then that I had to make changes. I knew that I had to make you  _understand_ that I couldn’t keep going like I was---”

“And how is  _anything_ different now?” She asks and raises her eyebrows, challenging him in that way that people do when they are sure they are right.

Rick holds up the bottle he brought with him, twirls it in his hands. “Eat all the time now,” he says.

Lori looks at the bottle with a mixture of surprise and disgust. Daryl shrugs his shoulders. “Call me a Chinese Buffet,” he says.

Rick pulls the bottle to him. “Juice,” he says, “blood, five hour energy, a little salt and some lime. Some other shit when I feel like it. I drink it all throughout the day and it makes me energetic enough to function, but not starving. And look, Lori.” He pauses and Daryl watches him concentrate and then his eyes are violet, red, blue. “I can retract my teeth when I want.” He holds up his hand and lets his nails get longer. “Nails, too. I’m  _in control of it_. For the first time since this happened to me. I  _understand it_. And I owe it all to Daryl.”

“And why is Daryl so  _special_?” Lori asks, venom in her voice.

“Because he listens to me,” Rick says evenly and Daryl watches the patterns play out on her face. Rick sighs. “And he gets it. He gets that I need routine and I also need wild things. That I’m dangerous, but only if you don’t take care of me. That I want things that I haven’t even been able to say for so long.”

“What do you want from me?” Lori asks and narrows her eyes. “Because I’m not finding the joy in sitting here listening to you go on and on about your new gay toy.”

Daryl squares his shoulders. “Better than a used up hag,” he grunts out and Daryl holds her wide and offended eyes until she finally looks away.

“What do you want, Rick?” she asks, her voice cold business.

Rick shrugs. “Wanted you to know I was okay. And that I have it under control. And I want to talk about Carl.”

“No,” Lori says. “I’ll not allow you within a hundred feet of him.”

“Lori--”

“You  _hurt me_ , Rick,” Lori says. “You physically hurt me and I can’t have you around my  _son_.”

“He’s my son, too.”

“And maybe you should have thought about that,” she says and moves to stand, but Daryl jerks his hand forward and grabs her wrist, keeping her in her seat. Both Lori and Rick whip their eyes to him.

“Do you think that someone who is sick should be held accountable for their actions?” Daryl asks. “That’s what you thought Rick was, right? Sick? Or someone who has a mental illness? Or, hell, a wild animal--do you think a tiger should have thought better of it before he eats a deer when it’s starving?”

Lori sets her mouth. “Rick isn’t a tiger,” she says. “He’s a man and yes, he should have known better.”

“What would you do without a grocery store and a restaurant? What would you do for food? What would you do when you were all alone and the only thing you could eat was another person in front of you?”

Lori pulls her hand from Daryl and rubs it like Daryl has scalded it. She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t see Carl.”

“He’s better now.”

“How do I know that?”

“Let him prove it to you.”

Lori narrows her eyes and looks between them. “How?”

“You tell us,” Daryl says and sits back in his chair. “What would convince you?”

Lori blinks and looks at the table. Daryl and Rick let her think. “I want to see him out in the day,” she finally says, “like he used to be. I want to see him at night, too, and I don’t want to see the red eyes. I want the doctors to tell me he’s fine.”

“And then you’ll let me see Carl?” Rick asks.

Lori purses her lips. “Supervised,” she says. “For...for the first few times. And then we’ll see. That is  _all_ I am giving you.” She stares at both of them with a hard glare and Rick slowly nods.

“I’ll take it,” Rick says.

“And I want the house back,” Lori says, “and the car.”

Rick shrugs. “I didn’t take either of them.”

“He’s living with me,” Daryl tells her.

Lori nods her head in a jerking fashion. “Fine, then. That’s it. I’ll talk with my lawyer.” She stands up slowly this time and Daryl doesn’t stop her. “I hope you’re happy, Rick,” she says, but  _happy_ doesn’t carry to her voice. “I can’t believe that you would ever be...I can’t believe that we would ever be…” She sighs. “It doesn’t matter. You just weren’t the man I thought you were.”

She starts to walk outside, but Daryl calls after her. “Lori,” he says and turns in his seat. “He’s still a good man. Even if he’s not the guy you thought he was. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s still good.”

She purses her lip but Daryl watches the rest of her as it slowly relaxes, her muscles less tense and flight responded. “We’ll see,” she tells him and turns and leaves.

Daryl sighs and turns back to Rick. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Rick shakes his head. “For what?”

“Talkin’ too much.”

Rick sighs, but he smiles kind of slow and sad. “No, you weren’t. And we made progress. She said I could see Carl. And I’m sure there will be no problems with me being crazy again with my new food supply. And, besides, you were defending me.”

Daryl shrugs. “Someone had to,” he says and then stares at the Chili’s table. “Gonna order some Texas fries,” he says. “Figure we should get something so that we can make up for the piss poor attitude we’ve just brought in here.”

Rick smiles at him and he leans forward, puts his chin on Daryl’s shoulder and looks up at him. Daryl stares into his eyes, blue with just a hint of forthcoming violet, sassy and sleek and playful. He thinks of cubs rolling around on the ground with each other, tigers wiggling their butts at a piece of grass, bobcats rushing across the soft ground in that crazy frivolous way. He smiles and puts his nose right up against Rick’s and can almost  _feel_ the coolness of the breeze, the leaves as they float down, the sun on his skin. “You’re mine,” Daryl whispers because it’s the truth.

Rick grins up at him and nods, his chin rotating itself on Daryl’s shoulder. “Yours,” Rick says with a tiny purr in his voice.

***

Daryl leans on the hood of the police car and smiles at Rick sitting next to him, their sides pressed up and melted together. The sun is beating down, but the humidity is thankfully not bad and the air just carries the warm glow of a summer day. Rick’s eyes are shaded behind contacts that he’s just started to get used to and they make the color darker, but Daryl can still tell the distinction between red, violet, and the blue that they are right now.

“Bad use of police resources,” Daryl says and grins.

Rick smiles back and glances at the prison that Merle will shortly walk out of, the long and graveled sidewalk from the entrance. “Not a good first impression, huh? Driving him back to the house in the car. In the  _back_ of the car.”

Daryl shrugs. “Not like everyone could fit in the truck and I wasn’t leaving you behind.” He elbows Rick in the side so that Rick will turn back to him. “Not with those pretty little eyes,” he says.

Rick rolls said pretty eyes and shakes his head. “Merle was okay, right? I mean, you said he was. After you told him. But I’m just checking. He was alright?”

“With us?” Daryl asks and shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, no. Because you’re a cop. But yeah, because of the rest of it. And,” Daryl says and leans up off the car, stepping in front of Rick. He wraps his arms around Rick and smiles, “pretty soon we won’t have to deal with him anyway. Not if we actually get that duplex out on Center Street. And then,” Daryl says and bounces a little on his heels, “we get to be close to the park and the edge of town and Carl will like it when he comes to visit and it’s the perfect place between our jobs and then if we  _do_  get it, the best two weeks of my life will becomes the best  _forever._ ”

Rick laughs. “Well, no matter where we live, isn’t it going to be, anyway?”

Daryl smiles. “You’re right. See? I need you around because you remind me of things like that.”

“You could kiss me for it,” Rick says, all shy and violet.

“On the hood of a police car?” Daryl asks, mock offended. “In front of a prison? Officer Dick.”

But then he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips to Rick’s, molding the two of them together like knitted twine. Rick tilts his head back and begins to softly purr into Daryl’s mouth. Daryl smiles against his lips and follows his backwards trajectory, pressing his body to Rick’s and arching the two of them over the hood of the car. Daryl feels Rick’s teeth right before they bite, but he leans into the nip and moans at the feel of the fangs slicing through his lip. He puts one hand on Rick’s hip, the other in Rick’s curls and Rick wraps his own arms around Daryl’s neck. The kiss and suck and melt and breathe and it’s perfect, so very  _wild_ and  _free,_  but so  _comfortable_ and  _honest_ at the same time and Daryl is floored with it, like he will be for the rest of his life--standing there, holding Rick---his lion. His little bobcat.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Blue Eyes and Possession"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365279) by [SkariCovers (skarlatha)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/SkariCovers)




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